Keep in Time
by Dentelle-noir
Summary: COMPLETE! AU. 3x4. A suspicious accident leaves Trowa without a skating partner, sentencing him to a year without competition. Quatre is an injured dancer, trying to find a way to live without his joy. Together, they make new rules and find a new path.
1. Chapter 1

**Keep in Time**

_Dentelle_noir_

**Summary:** AU 3x4. A suspicious accident leaves Trowa without a skating partner, sentencing him to a year without competition. Quatre is an injured dancer, trying to find a way to live without his joy. Together, they make new rules and find a new path.

Re-posted old chapters with new beta work, new chapters to be added VERY SOON!

**Chapter One**

Trowa remembered it with sickening clarity. The crowd was clapping after their perfectly landed axle, and Trowa was sailing away, twisting his body in a perfect arch to see the judges clearly. The reverberating THUNK caught his attention, and the crowd gasped. Trowa twisted perfectly, moving on to their step sequence. The backwards turn gave him a perfect view of his partner, and that view he would never forget.

His sister was crumpled against the boards, trying frantically to pull herself up, but her skates were twisted around each other. She staggered and pushed, trying to disentangle her fumbling, sliding legs, but she didn't seem able.

Trowa was speed skating the few meters over to her before it even registered in his mind that her left leg, encased in knee-high skates to match Trowa's cavalier costume, was bent and twisted like no leg should be.

Their music, a soft orchestral lullaby, cut off abruptly, evoking pandemonium. Medics streamed in from all accesses and Trowa held his wailing sister steady so she wouldn't move her God damned broken leg, skating her over to the stretcher and lifting her straight up on it.

That was when he knew there was something seriously wrong. He had lifted her hundreds of times - twirled, moved, and balanced with her since he was strong enough to carry her, but she had never felt so wrong before in his arms. She was crying, screaming about the competition and not wanting to look so bad on camera, but Trowa couldn't care less. He knew Cathy was injured - Badly.

That was two weeks ago. The rumors flew about what caused Catherine Bloom, half of a gold medal pair, to fall so hard and so fast. The media was told a shoelace broke, making the skate unstable. The truth was caught by the cameras. A pivotal failure of the custom skate was to blame; the top leather had spilt straight off the sole, causing her foot to slide right off. Because of the angle they were skating at, she collided straight into the boards at top speed and had no way to slow. They were just transitioning from the successful landing of the dual jump to their step sequence. Commentary said that the only way it could have been worse was if the accident had happened during the landing on the jump.

But Trowa didn't believe that. He knew their jumps. She had broken a lace before, right as she was dropping onto the ice after their lift. Trowa had grabbed her, holding her off the ice and slowing them to see what happened. He knew Cathy. He knew when something went wrong with her. She was his sister, His partner, His life. He had been skating with her since birth. They had been destined for doubles. There was no worse time then those few seconds, while transitioning into a new set, when Trowa would not be within arms' range that her skate could have screwed up. It was the worst possible injury to a pairs skater.

And now, she was out of commission; the doctors had to put in numerous pins to correct the fractures and she had seen various specialists. But still, she was in a cast from thigh to toe for at least 2 months.

The National Championship was out of the question.

Training came to a screeching stop. Cathy couldn't skate. Trowa could keep in shape, sure, but they couldn't practice any lifts, or learn any routines. For someone used to being on the ice and pushing each limit from dawn to well past dusk, Trowa was not adjusting well to suddenly having hours and hours of free time.

Cathy was doing fine with the free time, although, she didn't seem to be able to talk to Trowa anymore. Just looking at him those first few days was enough to make her break into tears, reminding her of what she could not do. She immersed herself in school society. She had always been popular and had yearned to spend more time with her friends, anyway. She was happy.

Trowa, though, didn't have any friends. Suddenly attending classes at the high school regularly was a complete shock to his system. Trowa had been in school before, sure, but he missed more days than attended and had his tutor condense the rest of the work into a few hours between practices. He had never felt the need to interact with others. He was intensely private off the ice. But now Trowa found himself sitting in an unfamiliar desk, watching an unfamiliar teacher drone on about schoolwork he had already read in the textbook, surrounded by classmates he had never met before. The only people in the entire school he knew were his sister, Wufei (who had been his tutor and neighbor for years), and a few of Cathy's friends, whom he couldn't stand.

No one seemed to go out of their way to talk to him; why should they? He wasn't new, or even exotic. He had always been there randomly, but he had never had time to socialize before. Lunch was spent completely alone (Wufei had physics club, Biology club, Student council, and debate team meetings, so he was never there). Trowa didn't even try to find a place in the cafeteria, instead taking his protein shake and sitting in a quiet window sill in the upstairs corridors, brooding.

He missed the ice.

He had even started formulating plans about escaping the school building at lunch to sneak into the school-owned hockey rink at the far, far side of campus just to be on it for a little while...But he would never be allowed.

Because he was an athlete, his coach had downright forbid him to play any other sports because of the risk of injury. He was technically taking gym this semester, (and every previous year) but he had never shown up past the third day. The coaches gave him A+ anyway, since he was better fit and better disciplined than most students. He never felt the need to go before.

But he heard people talking; the halls were a great place to overhear the everyday gossip. Usually he only picked up who was dating who, what last night's Grey's Anatomy was about, snippets about the impending closure of the private academy, or stupid pet tricks. But one day he overheard something important: the Gym class was moving onto the skating part of the curriculum.

Trowa showed up to class.

Already geared up, he was out on the ice and doing circuits within moments of walking into the school-owned rink. Their ice was different from Petra's (his home ice, which was owned by one of his and Cathy's coaches) but it was a thrill to get used to a new place to unwind and just skate, untouched and unfettered.

"Sorry, Barton, but we have a class on the ice today." The gym teacher said in his gruff voice.

Trowa smiled brightly and did a quick turn so he sailed along backwards, keeping his eye on the coach, "But I'm technically in your class. Can't I participate in this section?" He asked, coming to stop with a wave of snow marking the edge his skate blade.

The coach narrowed his eyes. He was going to say no. Then he thought for a moment, and reconsidered, "Since you are already proficient in Skating, I'd make you teach all the really bad skaters. Or you can get off my ice." He said, obviously hoping Trowa would screw off and leave him be.

But Trowa felt his smile brighten, "Thank you." He said sincerely. The coach's gruff demeanor melted just a little, and he shook his head minutely.

"Everyone on the ICE!" He turned around and bellowed, still as prickly as before. The three dozen students scrambled to get skates laced and guards off before they waddled their way to the access doors-- Most of them gripping the edges and wiggling around on their legs like newborn giraffes.

Trowa sailed past them all again, doing another circuit for his own enjoyment, then he turned to take a look at each skater's form, and decided who needed his help the most. The coach quickly set up a few exercises, sending Trowa out to get some chairs for the real newbies to work with, and got the students to skate up and down the ice. It was obvious who had potential after that.

Trowa found himself trailing the pack, doing little twizzles and turns to keep himself occupied until someone fell. He then worked his way over to help steady them... or pick them up. They went back and forth, back and forth, some losing the chairs along the way, others just losing their footing, and a few rolling their eyes as they showed off their superior skill.

All in all, Trowa didn't care, because being on the ice in gym gave him a break between a morning of boring, torturous classes and an afternoon of insufferable, stuffy classes before he could get to Petra's rink after school. Most of the class was eager to get to lunch, but Trowa had no intention of leaving his haven until he absolutely had too. The last fifty minutes had been the least boring minutes of his entire school career.

Finally, the class began to wind down and the coach slid a CD into a player he brought with him. "Free Style," he said, and told the students to use what they knew for the last fifteen minutes. Some of the students simply made their way to the exists and wearily trudged up to the stands to reclaim flat footwear, while others stayed a little longer to do a few more advanced tricks to impress their classmates. Trowa stayed, of course, because he belonged on the ice. He always felt awkward, self-conscious, and lacking of any social graces, but on the ice? On the ice, he soared.

The song changed on the CD, and Trowa stared a circuit of the ice. Everyone else had vacated now, and he had no fear of hitting some stumbling classmate. He closed his eyes, feeling the ice beneath his skates, and began to move to the music, just playing around, doing a few turns and loops in impromptu choreography. The music began to crest, and Trowa opened his eyes, moving into perfect position and pushing into one neat little axel propelling him into up into the air and then down. He quickly twisted into his signature move, dipping down with his torso and arching his back so he could reach out and touch his raised and bent back leg as he continued to fly around the ice. He made a tear-drop shape with his body- almost a perfect circle of flesh balancing on one supporting leg, using ice as his stage and his body as his tool. The familiar move relaxed him, letting his awkwardness melt away.

Continuing around to come closer to the stands now, Trowa slowly let go of his ankle and let his leg drift downward as he straightened himself out, smiling warmly to himself for a job well done.

That's when he saw it. Behind the boards, standing on the concrete and staring at a group of teenagers watching, another boy was disentangling himself from the same position and laughingly saying, "It's not as hard as it looks!" to the group.

He had been copying him? Off the ice? How?!

Trowa locked eyes with the boy. A blonde, with the most mischievous sky-blue eyes was gently laughing and smiling at Trowa from outside the stands.

Trowa's circuit brought him closer again, and Trowa decided to show the blonde something he couldn't do (although Trowa reminded himself that he was not allowed to do any risky moves without his coach's supervision). Trowa turned himself and launched off the ice in a simple in-air split, pushing off his left and landing on his right.

The blonde grinned, seeing the challenge and took a little run. He jumped just as high as Trowa, doing the split easily and landed perfectly. Then the blonde turned gracefully and then posed-- He lifted his back leg and extended his arm and hand into a long perfect arch of the entire body to finish off. "Grand jeté to land in a second Arabesque!" The blonde called merrily. His voice was a bright trilling tenor that had Trowa's hairs standing on end in pleasure just from the sound.

Trowa skated up to him, surprise etched firmly on his face. "I didn't know there were other skaters at this school." Trowa said, finding his voice after a moment. It was true that the region was highly competitive since there were many skaters of high caliber in the same area all fighting and backstabbing to get the only three advancing spots. There were a few teams that Trowa and Cathy had to watch out for and strive to stay ahead of-- but Trowa had never met another skater at the same high school. Most of the other skaters went to the private school!

The blonde laughed merrily again, a smile lighting his entire face, "I can't do that on skates. But if you liked what I could do with sneakers, you'll be impressed with what I can do with Pointe shoes! Only male who can in the state." Trowa didn't follow right away... The blonde grinned, almost manically, and quickly slid his feet gracefully into fifth position and raised himself on the balls of his feet, hands high above his head in a perfect circular arch. Ballet. He was doing ballet.

"Figure skating's only a colder form of ballet," The blonde informed him with a flippant, teasing tone and a grin.

"Ballet's just a slower form of skating," Trowa replied almost automatically. He couldn't remember where he'd heard that before, but it seemed to be the right thing to say, because the blonde grinned happily and laughed.

"Quatre Winner." He held out his hand over the boards to Trowa.

Trowa took the hand and gave it a firm shake, "Trowa Barton," he said back, with a charming smile. He was reluctant to let go of the hand now that he had it.

Coach stepped in, though, before the shake became awkward, "Let's go people. Lunch!" he hollered, causing Quatre to pull his hand back quickly and move to the access door Trowa was sailing towards.

"I'll walk with you to the cafeteria." Quatre said, slowly picking his things up from the seats. Trowa noticed that they were the last ones in the stands. Trowa was alone with Quatre, but he was on familiar ground. He didn't want to leave it. Trowa grabbed his bag on the way up the stairs and sat himself on the same level as the blonde, untying his custom made black figure skates once he got seated. The damn things were expensive, but they offered him the extra strength and stability that he needed to land some jumps, and he needed the very best gear to be able to compete with the richer skaters.

"I don't eat in the cafeteria." Trowa said gently. He pulled out his 'delicious' banana flavored meal substitute for today and gave it a shake for emphasis. Mmm Appetizing.

Quatre giggled merrily and produced a very similar looking strawberry protein shake, "I used to compete. I got used to these things. I can't seem to work up an appetite for other foods three times a day anymore. But they are way better tasting when you have them with friends!" the blonde said with a welcoming smile, "C'mon. It won't hurt you to thaw the ice in your veins!"

Trowa didn't respond, but he followed the intriguing blonde when he stood, "So you were a skater?"

Quatre laughed, his voice ringing merrily, as he turned to look at Trowa. It was almost like in those movies, when everything slowed around the lead to show just how gorgeous that one look was... Quatre looked radiant. And Trowa knew he would follow him anywhere.

"I'm not a skater! My cousin is, but I've always done Ballet up until last year. I competed in ballet competitions, silly." Quatre teased, "Not everyone who competes does it on skates."

Trowa laughed sheepishly, "Take it as a compliment? I think you're good enough to be a skater." He tried.

"Oh, I know I'm good," Quatre replied with that same teasing, sexy, flirting little smile on his face. Then he became serious again, "I was invited to Julliard, but...Well, I injured my toes--and they never healed right," the blonde admitted, his face dimming, "I can't do full Pointe dance anymore, you know, Prima ballet? I sort of... needed a break from the pressure, so I came here last year to live with my sister."

Trowa frowned, opening his mouth to ask a question, but Quatre quickly changed the conversation, "But anyway, I heard that two gold medal skaters went here, but I don't remember seeing you before. Did Coach ask you to help with the class today?"

Trowa took in everything with a slight frown on his face. He could tell Quatre missed Ballet probably as much as Trowa missed doubles now that Cathy was injured. Single training was not the same at all. He had thought about just stopping skating all together just so he wouldn't feel the emptiness. He supposed Quatre was doing the same thing with dance right now… He let the topic change go and just went with it.

"No, I showed up on my own. I've always been in the gym class. But I'm forbidden to play any sports or anything since I could be injured. They usually just get me to attend the first few days, and then I never bother to show for the rest of the year. I just wanted to get on the ice." Trowa said, watching as his own hands started to fidget nervously.

Quatre hit him with another of those dazzling smiles "You are hardcore, aren't you! Eat, Sleep, Skate, right?"

Trowa blinked a minute and then shrugged, joking back "I guess. Although eating and skating don't usually go together." He immediately wanted to take that back after it flew out of his mouth. Quatre was going to think he was anorexic or something! He finally managed to make an almost-friend and he went and said something weird like THAT!

Quatre began to laugh, "AMEN! I always hated having to watch each pound, but the competition is fierce. Five more pounds is like dancing with a bowling ball strapped to your stomach! And there's always someone right behind you waiting to take your rank. It's not right. Not right at all, but it's the world we live in, and it sucks."

Trowa felt a weight lift off his shoulders and his anxiety dropped. "Exactly," he said, feeling a little smile work its way onto his face. He really liked Quatre.

Quatre granted him another one of those dazzling smiles, "You know, most of the time I'm happy that I have my own shake. Have you SEEN what they serve here for lunch?" Quatre began talking, his eyes glinting when he smiled and his whole body expressing his story. Trowa hardly said a word, but it didn't seem to bother Quatre at all. Soon, they were in the lunch room, and people Trowa had never met (although he recognized some from the group Quatre had been talking to in the stands) came up to the blonde and started talking with him. Quatre stuck with him, though, seamlessly integrating Trowa into the conversation between all the friends.

All too soon, the first bell rang, signaling the end of lunch and Quatre and his friends started to pack up. Trowa knew he didn't have classes with the blonde. Hell, he would have to wait until tomorrow's gym class to see him again! Suddenly, that was just not enough.

"Can I walk you to class?" Trowa asked, waiting until Quatre was just about ready to leave, so there were the fewest amount of people around to hear him, in case his voice gave off some of the desperation he was feeling.

Quatre beamed. It looked as if he had been hoping Trowa would ask, "I'm on the third floor, though. Is that okay?" he said, worried that was too far from wherever Trowa's class was.

Trowa nodded eagerly, though, not even comparing that his class was on the first floor and that he'd have to do double time to get there before the second bell, "No problem. Let's go."

Suddenly alone with Quatre, outside of the ice, Trowa felt himself begin to get nervous. His mind told him to say something, just to keep the chatter up, but his mouth just wouldn't say anything! Quatre walked beside him easily, his backpack flung over his shoulder and he moved through the halls with grace. It was no surprise that he was a dancer.

"Do you have practice after school?" Quatre said easily, turning the conversation over to Trowa.

"Yeah," Trowa said, and then he saw Quatre's face fall, just a little. He needed to fix that! He knew that he had doubles practice from four to nine, but maybe… "Wait, maybe not; I usually do doubles practice, but without Cathy then... No. I don't have practice." Trowa said, a little smile pulling at his lips. His coach might be mad, but he could argue that he didn't need to be there. Not without Cathy.

Quatre brightened, "Well, the group of us were planning to go for ice cream after school, over at Hadford's. Wanna come? I think we can find a ride for you?"

Ice Cream? Trowa hadn't had that in ages, and with Quatre's teasing smile dancing on one shoulder and no little angel on the other to tell him no, he didn't think he could resist temptation. And if he was going to break his diet for ice cream, he should do it all the way. He heard that Hadford's had the best ice cream in town. It was only a few blocks from Petra's rink, and when she had three AM pregnancy cravings, she sent her husband out to get Hadford's. Nothing was better than Hadford's. And because of how close it was he could be at the rink as soon as they were done eating the ice cream.

"I don't think I can resist." Trowa said, "But I have my own jeep. Do you need a ride?"

Quatre beamed, "I'd love a ride! We usually try to stuff a dozen teenagers into two sedans! I hate being stuffed in with five other people in a car meant to fit four!"

Trowa felt an ego boost, thinking of getting Quatre, alone, in his car, "I can drive you home afterwards, too, if you'd like?"

He wasn't expecting it, but Quatre launched himself at Trowa, wrapping his arms around him and squeezing briefly. That little impromptu hug filled Trowa with a little bubble of happiness that just kept getting bigger the longer he held on. "Sounds great!" Quatre said, letting go after a few moments. "My locker is in the Drama hall. Meet us there after school, okay?" Quatre said with a smile. By then, they had made it to the third floor, and Quatre's class.

"I'll see you then." Trowa said, watching Quatre walk into class. He flicked his eyes over his shoulder, smiled, and then waved at him to shoo.

The second bell rang.

With a thought of impending doom, Trowa took off down the hall and booked it straight down the stairs, making it to his classroom with enough time to slip into his seat just as the teacher turned to quiet the class.


	2. Chapter 2

**Keep in Time**

_Dentelle_noir_

**Summary:** AU 3x4. A suspicious accident leaves Trowa without a skating partner, sentencing him to a year without competition. Quatre is an injured dancer, trying to find a way to live without his joy. Together, they make new rules and find a new path.

Re-posted old chapters with new beta work, new chapters to be added VERY SOON!

**Chapter Two**

Trowa left a message for Cathy (since he couldn't find the handi-capable social butterfly anywhere) telling her that he would be out with friends, and then he made his way to the Drama hallway. It wasn't all that hard to find the place since it was in the same area as the Art hallway; all you had to do was follow the murals.

He could find Quatre's friends easy enough, too. There was far more than the dozen Trowa had thought were supposed to go to the ice cream parlor, though. While all the other halls had virtually emptied moments after the last bell, this hall was still brimming with activity. Just looking at them all began to make Trowa think about taking a few steps backwards and getting out of there before he got in over his head. Suddenly, a little blonde broke from the faceless crowd and latched onto Trowa's arm.

"Glad you made it in one piece!" Quatre sang merrily, "You still wanna come to Hadford's?"

The answer was almost no. But the blonde was smiling so happily… So brightly… He wondered if maybe he could handle that many artsy people… for Quatre's sake.

Trowa took another look at the group, though, and noticed a chunk of them braking from the mass and made their way into a classroom. Then a few more broke off of the main crowd and came over to him and Quatre, bags at the ready, followed by a few more stragglers from other little cliques forming.

"Okay, who's in my car?" One boy with bright purple stripes of hair said. Three more people broke from the crowd, taking up the offer and stood by him.

Something about that guy didn't feel right. Trowa couldn't place what it was, but he didn't trust the guy. He had a spiked bracelet, too many earrings for Trowa's taste and was wearing all black except for a bright rainbow-coloured belt and that shocking purple-striped hair. But his attitude… it was as if he thought that he controlled the world. Trowa didn't like it. At all.

"Cat, are you with me too?" The boy asked with a charming smile, "You can sit in the front with me."

"Not today. Trowa's going to drive me, Right?" Quatre said, turning everyone's attention onto Trowa. And then he touched Trowa's shoulder absently and suddenly the purple-striped boy's eyes narrowed dangerously on Trowa. Challenging. Trowa hated people who challenged him, but he was acutely aware that he was on this guy's terrain. Trowa barely knew these people, barely knew Quatre, barely knew the school. He decided to tread lightly and try not to step on the purple-haired guy's toes.

"I'll give you a ride, yeah," Trowa said quietly, hyper-aware of all the strangers watching him and eying him up. They were classifying him. He was well aware that he did not fit in with these people. He had no piercings, no colours in his hair, and he was wearing Khaki slacks. He also noticed that Quatre, though, didn't seem to fit the stereotype either--his look was more conservative, somewhat artsy in his pastel button up shirt and simple jeans--but still fit in with the group.

With a tug to Trowa's still-captured arm, Quatre began to walk away, rather quickly, shooting a wave to the rest of the group and shouted a "See you guys there!" over his shoulder.

Trowa followed along easily, and began to lead, taking them towards his jeep parked at the back of the school. Trowa unlocked the passenger door for Quatre and then got himself behind the wheel, mumbling an apology for the mess of diet soda cans, overfull garbage bag, and everything else that littered his backseat. At least the passenger seat was free of debris since Cathy often occupied it since Trowa had been carting her around practically everywhere since she broke her leg and couldn't drive. Quatre didn't complain about the mess at all, though.

The blonde let out a sigh of relief once they were out of the lot and on the way, "Sorry about Jay glaring at you like that. He does that to anyone I'm talking to. Jason –Jay-...has a thing for me. He kinda creeps me out, to be honest." Quatre said with an apologetic smile, "But he always offers me a ride and gets offended when I don't take it. He's friends with all my friends, though, so I can't just tell him where to stuff it if I want to stay friends with everyone."

"Did you date him before?" Trowa asked, a little angry hint in his voice as he said it.

The blonde sighed, "I went out with him once in grade 10, but I didn't like it. I only went because it's no secret that he likes me and everyone was pushing me to give him a chance. I gave him the chance. I didn't want to go out with him again. He doesn't get that."

"I...see." Trowa said neutrally, keeping his eyes on the road while planning ways to break the purple-headed boy's legs in the most painful ways. He didn't know why he was so protective all of a sudden, but he was. He knew he didn't like that purple-headed guy. Now he knew why.

There was silence in the car for a few minutes… and a few moments more.

Quatre started to squirm in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with the lack of conversation, "I'm bi. I mean, I've dated girls too. I hope it doesn't bother you that I dated a boy… does it? I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable-- I can get someone else to drive me home," He apologized, trying to give Trowa an easy out.

Trowa brought his attention back to his passenger, realizing Quatre thought his silence was because of Quatre's sexuality instead of contemplating the sounds of Jay's snapping limbs. He couldn't help a chuckle at that.

Made bold by the safety and control in his own car, Trowa reached across the small distance to poke the blonde's arm playfully, "Quatre...You have a pink ribbon on your backpack, and you did ballet. Not trying to stick to stereotypes here, but...I'm really not surprised that you like guys. Although why anyone would like that Jason guy is beyond me."

Quatre smirked despite himself, greatly decreasing the ferocity of the glare he was sending Trowa's way because of the ballet jab.

Trowa smirked, feeling a little playful, "I was quiet, because I was wondering if Jason's flambéed corpse would go better with barbeque sauce or maybe just an apple in the mouth for a little colour." Quatre's eyes widened for a moment, and then he let out merry peal of laughter. That just goaded Trowa on!

"No, no, no! Maybe roasted on a spit with some clove?" Trowa suggested again with a smirk, watching as Quatre doubled over in laughter.

"Although maybe he'd do better on a shish-ka-bob, marinated with some red wine? Yes, Definitely on the Shish-Ka-bob." Trowa continued, nodding solemnly at that one.

Quatre licked his lips, and then joined in, "Well, it would get rid of the hair if you did it on a spit. It looks like he got into a fight with a can of spray paint and lost." Quatre put his two-cents in. Laughing at the boy who'd been bothering him for over a year was surprisingly freeing. They both laughed for a little while longer, getting used to each other's company, and liking it.

Recovering from his laughter and at ease in the atmosphere of the jeep, Quatre settled comfortably into his seat, "I love this car," he said, reclining with a purr into the worn leather bucket seat.

The movement brought their proximity into stark relief. Quatre's coat sleeve was brushing against Trowa's elbow as he drove, the blonde's every sound and movement was so tantalizingly close that just the thought was heady. The gorgeous blonde was right there. In his car. With him. Alone together.

Trowa slowed the car for a red light and focused on his traveling companion. He looked like he was waiting for a response… OH! The car! "It's my favorite thing, after skating, of course," Trowa quickly managed a response, "In the summer I take off the top and just cruise."

Quatre smiled, "That sounds wonderful. I loved my car. I _miss_ my car," Quatre groaned, "but it was owned by my father. It stayed when I moved. He did not approve of my decision." The blonde looked out the window to avoid Trowa's eyes, but his voice had said it all.

Trowa decided right then and flicked on his turn signal, "Let's take the scenic route?"

Trowa couldn't do anything about the past, but he could affect the present. And if Quatre missed his car? Well, he would give him anything he could to see that smile again.

Quatre whooped in delight, the sound urging Trowa on to take a few more side roads until they found themselves near the outskirts of town and barreling down the country road, steadily picking up speed. Wind erupted into the Jeep as Quatre cranked his window down, whipping his golden hair all around his grinning face, a squeal of joy drowned out by the noise.

Trowa hit the stereo on, filling the Jeep as he turned again to keep off the main roads, the hills rising up beside them as they hugged the outskirts indulgently. It was a perfect moment.

_So find a new lifestyle, A new reason to smile, Look for Nirvana Under the strobe lights, Sequins and sex dreams, You whisper to me. There's no reason to cry!" _Quatre crowed along to the driving beat, causing Trowa to join, tapping the beat with his hands and his head.

"I skate to this song" Trowa said, "It's perfect for practicing twizzels."

"I just dance!" Quatre crowed, throwing his elbows up into the air, brushing the roof, and shaking along to the beat. _"If God is a DJ then Life is a dance floor. You get what you're given. It's all how you use it_!"

Trowa chimed in, voiced mingling together seamlessly, _"You take what you get and you get what you give. I say don't run from yourself, man, that's no way to live."_

Quatre took over, singing _"I've got a record in my bag you should give it a spin. Lift your hands in the air so that life can begin!" _Reaching high and far in the Jeep, brushing against Trowa's hair as he swaying in perfect time to the bridge, he belted out the chorus with Trowa. _"If god is a Dj, then life is a dance floor, Love is the rhythm. YOU are the music!"_ They shouted together, barreling down the side road at 80km/h totally free and exhilarated, laughing and singing at the top of their lungs, not caring one whit about anyone hearing them.

They began to near the highway, though, which meant that they had to swing back around if they wanted to stay in the city. Trowa signaled and turned them down another near-deserted suburb road which would bring them back towards the ice cream parlor but still let him take Quatre for a scenic ride.

The next song began to play, another one of Trowa's practice songs with a little less punch, and Quatre turned it down to a dull throbbing sound, "So Trowa, tell me something about yourself! You have a taste for rock music, love to cruise, and you Skate. Tell me something else?"

Trowa grasped for something. He wanted to have some sort of impressive thing to say… but he came up with nothing, "What do you want to know?" He tried instead, at a loss.

"Tell me..." Quatre thought for a moment, "Tell me your deepest, darkest secret." Quatre said with a falsetto macabre voice and leaning in towards Trowa.

Trowa laughed and flicked his eyes to Quatre. Dropping his voice to a seductive drawl, Trowa teased, "Alright, I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours."

"Okay." Quatre said, surprisingly confident, and teasing right back. He leaned right into Trowa's space, one hand coming to rest oh so casually against Trowa's leg as he whispered into his ear, "My biggest secret is...That I have a Fake ID that I stole from my sister. I love to go clubbing. It's my guilty pleasure. But I have to pretend I'm a girl." Trowa felt every inhalation and movement of the blonde's mouth against his ear which made it damn hard to stay concentrated on the road! And he barely heard what Quatre had said, but it sounded sexy.

Quatre abruptly moved back to his seat, a wicked smile on his face, "Your turn."

Trowa chuckled at that, not surprised in the least that the blonde knew exactly what his teasing was doing to him. But fair was fair, "Alright. But mine's damn embarrassing." He paused while he maneuvered them into the lot and then found a spot to park the jeep.

Once stopped and able to give Quatre his full attention, Trowa leaned in close, whispering deep and huskily into Quatre's ear, "My biggest secret is that my sister still has to buy my clothes for me. I have no sense of style."

Quatre burst into the shop, still barking with laughter, followed by a chuckling Trowa.

His mirth died as his eyes settled on the accusing glare Jason was throwing at them, "What took YOU so long?" The purple haired boy demanded.

Quatre felt his body tense, sending a glare right back at the guy and simply took an empty seat, not letting on how much the accusation hurt. It had been as if Jason was calling him a slut or something because they were late!

Trowa took a seat next to Quatre and glared straight back at Jason, already sick of his shit. Did the purple-haired guy act like an ass all the time, or perhaps it was just because of Trowa's presence? But it was ridiculous. "I take it back." Trowa said to Quatre loud enough for all to hear, "Definitely roasted with garlic butter and a touch of Rosemary."

Quatre burst out laughing, breaking the tense atmosphere in the shop as he doubled over in near-hysterics, watching confused looks mar most of his friends' faces while a few others snickered along, figuring out what they were talking about. Jason just glared.

With the ice nicely broken, the mass of teenagers quickly broke back into their conversations, only a few leveling appraising glances at Trowa.

"What kind of ice cream do you want?" Trowa asked, noticing that they were the only people without cones in hand.

"Chocolate Frozen Yogurt is what I usually get." Quatre said, warmed by the fact that Trowa was offering to get it for him.

Within moments of Trowa's departure to the glass-covered display cases, Quatre was surrounded by no less than six of his friends squawking for details about the handsome stranger, but he disappointed them all when he refused to say a word other than Trowa's name, and that they had just met in gym. Then he glared and told them all to back off! It was moderately successful, because they took their seats, but they kept watching the two of them interact.

A little bowl of frozen chocolate yogurt, complete with Hadford's patent yellow taster spoons, dropped in front of Quatre, followed by Trowa dropping himself into the chair beside his. In his hand, the taller brunette held a cone of chocolate cookie dough deluxe, which he was staring at with mild confusion.

After taking a bite of his own treat with relish, Quatre asked, "What did you get?"

"I told the lady behind the counter that I haven't had ice cream in years and to give me whatever was the most popular. I got something with chocolate, nuts of some kind, chocolate chips, and cookie dough, I think..." Trowa replied analytically, looking like he was resisting the urge to poke at the foreign substance.

"How can you not eat ice cream?" A new voice piped up from the group at large.

Trowa shrugged and continued to look at the slightly melting cone, "I'm an athlete. I have a strict diet."

A drip ran down his fingers and Trowa changed hands to lick it off absently. The sheer sweetness of it overloaded his senses. He had never had much of a sweet tooth, and years of dieting had cut down his taste for sugary confections. He hadn't realized he was making a disgusted face until Quatre's merrily ringing laughter started.

"Ug. How can people eat something so damn sugary?" Trowa complained, looking at the cone as if it was going to eat him alive.

"Here, have a bite of mine. The yogurt's bitter, you big baby!" He teased with a laugh, heaping his spoon with the chocolate and pressing it into Trowa's mouth.

The muffled protests (which sounded suspiciously like 'I am NOT a big baby') turned to a satisfied moan as the tangier treat melted onto the Skater's taste buds. Quatre smiled in satisfaction and took the cone out of Trowa's hands, easily finding a willing mouth to finish it off .

Quatre took the spoon out and put it in Trowa's hands and slid his cup between them, grabbing another spoon from a near-by container for himself, "Share mine, you got me a double scoop anyway when I usually have a single," Quatre offered. It was only logical. He spared no thought for the perfect opportunity to 'accidentally' brush his leg against Trowa's, of course. Really.

Trowa took the offered treat willingly, smiling as he had an excuse to slide his chair closer to Quatre's. The fact that it pissed Jason off immensely was just an added bonus to being so close to the blonde as conversation continued on around them. Quatre kept touching him, though. Brushing their knees together. Touching Trowa's thigh absently. Leaning back and letting their shoulder's touch. It was like a slow seduction game, and Trowa was eating it up. He had never had so much fun as far back as he could remember.

The bowl was long gone, and Quatre was exuberantly engaged telling a story to the table, the blonde's leg _somehow_ becoming entangled around Trowa's, when Trowa was yanked out of the pleasant reprieve by a very angry, very large, and very loud Russian.

"BOYSHKA! I'm going to break your neck!" Dimitri's booming voice stopped all conversation in the room. He was tall and broad shouldered, but completely fit even for his age. He looked to be in his 40s, but he was obviously an athlete. And he was glaring at the skater so hard it was making his square-shaped face turn red.

"Uh...hi Coach." Trowa said, trying not to cower in front of Quatre, even though he could feel a deeply embarrassed flush cover his cheeks, ears, and make its way down his chest.

"Wife sends me for her ice cream and I find you slacking! You're late for practice. Move it. Move it." The deep baritone grumbled, grabbing at Trowa's shoulder and hauling him to his feet faster than Trowa could get himself to them.

"But its doubles practice today. Cathy's injured so shouldn't I have this time free?" Trowa petitioned, standing patiently as Dimitri went to the counter and ordered a tub of Petra's favorite flavor. It seemed his coach was sent out to appease another of his wife's wild pregnancy cravings, so he used the precious seconds to plead his case. "Come on coach… just today, Dimitri?"

"Practice is practice. You have no partner, so we'll work on your footing more. You're slow on the toe-loop!" Dimitri's gravelly voice replied, paying for the ice cream and glaring at his errant student. "Move," He prompted.

Obviously pleading was getting him nowhere. Trowa sighed in resignation and turned to Quatre, "I'm sorry. I guess I still have to get to practice. You'll have to find another way home."

Everyone around the table looked affronted at the demand or mocking at Trowa's apparent lack of control over his own life. Accept Quatre. He smiled warmly, understanding, "How long do you have the ice for?" Quatre asked, standing to hand Trowa his coat from the back of the chair.

Trowa thought for a moment, "We have to be off the ice by nine since there's another class scheduled then."

Quatre took a look at the clock. It was a well past six by then. "I'll wait for you."

Trowa face broke out into a wide grin, "I'll be on the ice. Come on into the rink whenever you want."

"Move Boyshka!" Dimitri urged again. The little bell atop the shop's door rang merrily as he opened it to hurry his young charge, tugging at his skater until he walked outside.

"At least you have good taste, Boyska. He's a looker alright," Dimitri commented, moving them towards the rink a few blocks away. The ensuing cacophony from inside the store assured Trowa that every last one of them had heard.

"I just met him!" Trowa threw back... but by then they were well out of earshot.

Instead of cutting straight across the street, though, Trowa noticed Dimitri leading them forward, taking the long way to the rink. The large Russian skater didn't say anything until they made it to the street light which would take them to the correct side of the street, "I should be telling you to focus only on Skating. Tell Petra that's what I told you, dah?"

Trowa lifted a brow in question, but nodded slowly. After all their years together Trowa had learned to follow along.

Dimitri decided then, though, that he didn't want to cross the street after all and started walking further from the rink, "Trowa… You know I think of you as my own son. We spend more time with each other then with anyone else on the planet, so it's important to me that you're doing the right things. The right thing for your career is to stay away from anything that distracts you from skating, especially adorable little blonde boyshkas." And that meant Quatre. Trowa began to worry Dimitri was going to tell him that he couldn't see him again…

"But...the right thing for you isn't always the same as what's right for your career." Dimitri continued, "Cathy, we always had to reign in. That girl needs her feet nailed to the floor. You, though, you're not like her."

"Petra doesn't agree with me, but I don't care." Dimitri said gruffly (a statement sure to earn him a shoe to the head if his wife had overheard him), "I know you better than she does. You don't need more discipline. The ice is in your blood. You need to go out and be a normal teenager for a bit. Experience the world outside the rink. With Cathy hurt, this might be your opportunity. I'll talk to Petra about getting your Thursday and Sunday night practices cancelled until Cathy's back."

Dimitri finally crossed, putting the two of them on the right side of the street, although they were still blocks past their original destination. "Just don't tell Petra I said that. She just whines and complains and whines now. 'Oh Dimitri my feet hurt', 'Oh Dimitri, by back is aching', 'Oh Dimitri, you try and cook supper when you're six months pregnant'. Bleck. I don't think I'll make it at this rate." Dimitri changed subjects easily.

Trowa couldn't help but laugh at his coach's plight. His coach and Petra had been married going on fifteen years, and although Petra was hitting forty, she was finally pregnant with their first child. It was fate, actually, because Trowa would have been practicing with her instead of Cathy had she not been expressly forbidden from any strenuous activity during her pregnancy including lifts, jumps, and any fast-moving step sequences. Trowa and Dimitri both suspected that she had been forbidden to skate all together, but figured she was just stubbornly refusing to admit it. It left Trowa with hours and hours of individual practice, which was great at first so he could concentrate on his footwork, but quickly became useless when he had no one to time it with or work on more complicated lifts. His independent sessions (previously spent working with Cathy on synchronizing their movements) were spent doing nothing more than busy work and on-the-spot choreography just to give himself a challenge.

They made it into the rink in silence after that. Dimitri left Trowa to get geared up while he put the ice cream in the freezer. Trowa was soon out on the familiar ice, doing circuits around the perimeter, stretching and bending his upper body as he went along to warm himself up. Trowa started thinking about Quatre, and he couldn't wipe the smile off his face, throwing his energy into the warm ups and twisting and turning with giddy delight.


	3. Chapter 3

**Keep in Time**

_Dentelle_noir_

**Summary:** AU 3x4. A suspicious accident leaves Trowa without a skating partner, sentencing him to a year without competition. Quatre is an injured dancer, trying to find a way to live without his joy. Together, they make new rules and find a new path.

Re-posted old chapters with new beta work, new chapters to be added VERY SOON!

**Chapter Three**

"At least you have good taste, Boyska. He's a looker, alright." Trowa's coach had said, making the boy turn bright red, and Quatre felt his own face warm at the compliment. I guess that answered his question about Trowa's sexuality...

Quatre turned to find that the comment had flung his friends into an uproar. Jason, particularly, was striding straight over to Quatre and standing toe to toe, "What the FUCK, Quatre! Why'd you bring that preppy bastard here!"

Another friend, Marissa, who was known for always wearing pigtails in her ebony hair, piped up on Quatre's side, "He wasn't that bad. You're just mad because the prep was totally flirting with Quat. And you know what, Jay~son? It looked to me like Quatre actually likes _him."_ The 'unlike you' was unspoken, but loud and clear none the less. The gauntlet had officially been thrown, and he hadn't even said anything! Quatre wanted to get out of there before the groups began to talk trash to each other over the whole thing. As far as Quatre was concerned, it was none of their business, but of course, everyone had to put in their two cents.

Quatre slid around Jason quietly, taking a seat to watch his group clique off. Marissa and a few others had Quatre's back, while another few took Jason's anti-prep side to the disgust of the more conservative members of the group. It wasn't a surprise really. Quatre knew that the outing would fall apart any minute now. Inter-group drama always made outings end early. And Drama was their specialty. Quatre had to smile. He had known it was coming. They hadn't all cliqued off for an angsty bitch-fest in over a week. It was well overdue.

As predicted, not more than 20 minutes later Quatre was saying good bye to the last person at the ice-cream parlor and turning down one girl's fifth offer for a ride, Quatre promised to ride home with Trowa, and he was looking forward to it. The girl didn't want to leave him alone though, for safety reasons, since he had a good hour and a half until Trowa's coach would let him leave and no one else there. As touching as that was, Quatre had no intention of leaving without Trowa, and the girl didn't want to stay for that long doing nothing. Quatre had to practically shove her out the door, but she finally left. Quatre was the only one in the store now.

The huge table looked empty and uninviting, especially with his coat hanging alone over the back of a chair. He made a split second decision, grabbed his coat and scarf, and took to the street. His half formed idea was to check out some shops or go for a walk, but once outside he let out a depressed sigh. There was nothing around to make the walk worthwhile. The highlights of the view were a gas station, some closed office buildings, and a 7-11 which were dotted between houses as far as the eye could see. There wasn't even any nice Christmas lights up to check out since it was February, and the cold, half-frozen, dirty snow made everything look dreary. Disheartened, Quatre looked back the way he came: the ice cream shop, a bank, and an ice rink. It only made sense to think that Trowa was in there.

The temptation to see Trowa was just too great, so Quatre crossed the nearly deserted street and made his way over to the rink. He really didn't have anything else better to do, and he had never been to Petra's Rink before.

Walking in was nothing special. The outside of the building was completely made out of cold cement, giving the rink an industrial feel. The entryway was large enough to drive a truck through but the vast emptiness just made it feel dull and uninviting despite the obvious attempts to perk it up. There were yards and yards of pictures and trophies running along the walls on either side of the vast cement floor, but even all those pictures couldn't really make the space look good.

Quatre walked to one wall and began to peruse the photos. Some were yellowed with age, depicting old hockey teams with no helmets (or teeth) as they smiled at the camera. Moving on, Quatre saw the teams give way to pictures of figure skaters. One team was featured prominently in the older pictures. In the first photo two people, about 25 years old, were posing on the ice together as they held up medals, 'Petra and Dimitri Anatolv. Olympic gold' was engraved under the picture and was dated some 20 years previous. The girl looked very pretty, with her brown hair done up in a sporty, fashionable style and she wore a pretty little sequined costume. The man's costumed matched hers, and he stood slightly behind her with one arm wrapped around her middle. He was smiling warmly at her more than the camera. It was obvious from the picture that he was head over heels in love with the woman, and her with him. And together they won gold. Quatre had to squint, but he could vaguely make out the resemblance of the male skater to the stately handsome coach who had carted Trowa off for practice. And Trowa had called his coach Dimitri. That must have been him in his prime.

Most of the pictures on the left wall were action shots of Petra and Dimitri in various costumes over various years long passed. Most of the trophies on that wall were theirs too. But once Quatre crossed to the other wall in the entrance, he was instantly faced with whole different sets of skaters. There were classes of pre-teen female skaters, medals hanging from a few of their necks as they posed with Petra. A young Trowa, no more than 9 or 10 stood beside Dimitri and held a Gold trophy almost as big as himself in regional junior's men's singles competition. Cathy and Petra posed in the next picture, holding a much smaller trophy for woman's singles--bronze. The pictures continued: another gold for Trowa the next year, and a bronze for Cathy. A silver for Trowa the year after...no picture of Cathy.

The next picture, though, was much larger. A huge gold trophy was set down on the ice with a 13 year old Trowa posed on the ice straddling the trophy with Cathy lifted high above his head in a perfect T, both of them smiling triumphantly. But Quatre noticed the gap of a year between the two of them skating singles before the year of doubles. What happened when Trowa was twelve?

Then there was another perfect succession of Trowa and Cathy. In some pictured they were just standing, others mid-lift or showing perfectly synchronized twizzles. They placed each time. In most, they held gold, but even though some were silvers or bronze, Quatre could tell by Trowa's little smiles that they had skated their hearts out and done their best. He noticed quickly that Cathy had the same fake model-perfect smile in each picture, but Trowa's smile was always genuine. Proud. Sometimes exhausted. But it was obvious that he loved what he did.

Suddenly Quatre came to the end of the succession. A block of vaguely-white cinderblock stared at him abruptly, reminding Quatre that this year Trowa wouldn't skate. There would be no picture this year of anyone; No teasing, victorious smile, no trophy. No medal to fill the case. Nothing. It was so depressing a thought that Quatre felt his heart breaking.

Standing there in the foyer, staring at the empty spot of wall, Quatre was desperate to see Trowa on the ice, even if it was just to watch him practice. The foyer led right towards the doors that opened into the rink. He could see the ice through the glass portals on the doors, but he couldn't see Trowa from his vantage point. He knew Trowa was in there, though. He had to be.

Opening the big, heavy doors that lead him into the rink proper, he was bombarded by a driving, heavy beat flooding the rink through every speaker, _"__All I know is that to me You look like you're havin' fun. Open up your lovin' arms. Watch out, here I come!"_

A black blurr flew by on the ice, the speeding form of Trowa quickly leaping in time, flipping once in a perfect jackknife and landing squarely on the ice without hesitation and pushed straight into the middle of the rink, crossing his legs, and snapping into a whirl at breakneck speed. His arms moved down from over his head to point his elbows out and continue the drop into a crouch, his whole body spinning on one point so fast that he looked like a perfectly balanced top.

Just as abruptly as he snapped into the spin, his whole body sprang out of it: his arms and leg flew open like a broken toy and Trowa came out of the crouch. The spin turned into a backwards glide and Trowa began ringing the outer wall at a demonic speed.

"That doesn't look like laps to me, Trowa!" A woman's voice hollered over the crashing beat, going unheard by everyone but Quatre, it seemed. She shook her head in slight disgust and angrily stormed into an office situated high above the ice.

Dimitri hollered "Elbows IN!" as Trowa pushed off the ice again, flinging himself savagely into the air with an arch as elegant as a dolphin.

"_You spin me right round, baby, right round! Like a record, baby, Right round round round_" screamed the music. Quatre gasped in awe, watching Trowa practically fold backwards on himself to glide across the rink in an impossible-looking stance. The difference in Trowa's skating from the fun stuff in the school rink to this was obvious. What he did at school was nothing but parlor ticks in comparison to the real skills he had. Trowa was sweating out of every pore as he threw himself head-first into a new movement. He was driven, dedicated, and had sheer gift for movement Quatre hadn't seen since his days training for Julliard.

Trowa slowed to a fierce ringing of the ice, his hand diving into the pocket of his tight-fitting, shiny black pants. Quatre noticed they looked exactly like dance-pants. Quatre used to wear a set of them over the requisite body suit he had to wear for jazz practice. Trowa, too, was wearing a body suit. It was spandex-tight but had long sleeves for added warmth with a high turtle-neck style collar. Under armor probably, designed to keep sweat off the body and keep Trowa's body temperature regulated. Quatre thought that it looked pretty damn good, especially the way it hugged his muscles up top and made his ass look perfect.

The music cued, and then started again. Then stopped and started again as Trowa continued to play with something in his hands. He had some sort of remote control to the music in his pocket, apparently. Quatre thought it was pretty cool that Trowa's coach let him choose his practice music.

"Why don't you ask Sunshine, there, if he's got any requests?" Dimitri's gravelly voice said, bringing everyone's attention to the intruding Quatre. Whoops. Quatre looked nervous for a moment, then held up a hand (bright pink mittens in place) and waved gently. Was he in trouble for being there?

Trowa broke out in to a delighted smile, though, which assuaged his guilt, and waved back excitedly, "Hey Quat! I didn't think you would want to watch me skate. It's kinda boring. But I'm glad you came." Trowa practically purred.

Quatre felt himself flush, that warm voice sending tingles all the way down his spine and to the tips of his toes. Quatre was too quickly getting addicted to the way Trowa made him feel.

Trowa's circuit of the rink brought him closer to Quatre, and he was still smiling that teasing, flirty little smile that made Quatre want to go along with anything Trowa had in mind. "I'm doing on the spot choreography. Pick a song and I'll skate to it." Trowa said, producing a hand-sized remote from his pocket and tossing it to Quatre over the boards as he skated by.

Looking down, Quatre saw that it wasn't a remote at all, but an MP3 player with a little antenna hooked into the headphone outlet. It must have been rigged into the PA system, because when Quatre started to fiddle with it, the music around them changed.

Quatre began to look closely at the music, realizing what a look he was given into Trowa's soul. Music was all Trowa really did; he preformed to it, he drove with it cranked up, he probably even fell asleep or did his chores to it (and a play list named 'chores' cemented that idea). Quatre was being given a free peek into Trowa's inner soundtrack. It was him...right there in his hands. Quatre began to peruse the 'training' list, deciding to stay in the same playlist Trowa had been in so as not to intrude too much.

The perfect song scrolled up. Quatre hit it and cracked the volume. The retro beat pumped out loud and clear over the speakers filling the rink with the music. Trowa laughed out loud and began to weave back and forth across the ice to the music. Quatre, unable to stop himself, sang along and moved with Trowa, his feet dancing beside the rink, keeping up with Trowa's every move. The two of them were totally in sync, lifting their hands up and swinging along to the beat:

_Flashback, 72, Another summer in the neighborhood, Hangin' out with nothing to do  
Sometimes we'd go drivin' around, In my sisters pinto, Cruisin' with the windows rolled down  
We'd listen to the radio station, We were too damn cool to buy the eight track tapes  
There wasn't any good time to want to be inside, My mama wanna watch that tv all goddamn night_

_I'd be in bed with the radio on  
I would listen to it all night long  
Just to hear my favorite song…  
You'd have to wait but you could hear it on the AM RADIO. AM RADIO!_

Trowa swung deep into a twirl, Quatre following with a turn on the balls of his feet, his form the same as Trowa's as they both danced to the song, smiling and having fun. "Do you still have your skates?" Trowa called, moving towards him in a slow saunter-like weave across the ice, swinging wide and slow to the beat, gradually coming closer to Quatre with every turn.

Quatre nodded slowly, and began to smirk. Quatre lifted a brow, teasing in his own way, making Trowa say it. Quatre waited, watching him move and licking his lips. He knew Trowa was watching every movement he made, and just knowing he was teasing him back made him smirk.

"Come skate with me." Trowa asked. His voice was deep and husky, just like earlier in the car. Just that sound was enough to make Quatre's hairs stand on end excitedly. He was in his skates (thanking god that he chose to bring them home instead of leaving them in his locker at school) and he was out on the ice before the song quite ended. Trowa took the MP3 from Quatre and repeated the tune.

The professional ice felt different from the school's outdoor rink under his skates. Smoother. Harder. And the stands all around them made Quatre feel like he was on stage again. It was exhilarating. Then Trowa's arms came from behind and began to pull him along into a turn, swinging with the beat as he pulled Quatre along faster and faster, spinning them together with a mighty push.

The whoop of joy was all the encouragement Trowa needed, because he pulled out of the turn and the music sped up, pulling Quatre into one of those tight twirls that sent his hair whipping around his face and his clothes sticking to his body from the velocity. Quatre wrapped his hands around Trowa and locked his skates as close to Trowa's as he could, instinctively making the twist easier on the professional. It was taking his breath away with the speed and exhilaration. Twirling with him was more fun than Quatre could remember having in a while.

A moment later, Trowa broke out of the twirl and before Quatre even knew what was happening, Trowa moved them into a series of long sweeping twizzels. It was just like ballet, Quatre realized. Before Trowa even opened his mouth to warn him, Quatre was leaning into the turn, instinctively knowing the next movement, and together they sped around the rink, increasing speed as Trowa realized how experienced Quatre was.

Quatre himself was rediscovering his own talents. He had gone to figure skating classes as a kid with his cousin, although Quatre had moved on to dance and forgot the small skating part of his life. The movement was a little shaky in coming to him, but after class today, and then with Trowa's arms holding him steady, Quatre began to gets his ice-legs back, finding his ankle strength and movement far better after all the dance experience. He could feel what Trowa was going to do before he did it. He knew where Trowa's arm was going to anchor next. Together they flew like one, Trowa skating backwards so he could watch Quatre's face. And Quatre smiled, letting Trowa see just how much he enjoyed this.

Trowa's arms slid down to hold him tight around the waist so Quatre could use his arms, arching in Trowa's arm to fly together gracefully. Trowa's hands were gentle, but firm. Quatre knew he could trust him, and with that in mind, he let go of his inhibitions. Leaning back far, Quatre arched his back so his body looked like a cupid's bow, lifting his leg and then he extended his arms behind him like he was free-falling with only Trowa's two hands on his waist to keep him safe, keep him moving, keep him from going off course. But the loss of control was half the fun.

Quatre slid back upright from the drag, smiling in glee at Trowa's bewildered expression. He brought his arms up and around to hold at a perfect third position, gliding along, and he decided to try a little something... He shifted his weight to one foot, glad when he felt Trowa's grip tighten on him, and he lifted his left foot up behind him, bending slowly, carefully as he steadied himself into second Arabesque, the same move he had slid into effortlessly on solid ground earlier that day to show Trowa up.

Seeing Quatre's determined expression, though, Trowa had to laugh, "Seeing first hand that it was a little more difficult on skates then when you were on ground?"

Quatre, though, wasn't giving up. "I'll get it" he said with determination. He got himself steady, and then locked onto Trowa's arm. Quatre looked into Trowa's eyes, and urged the taller boy to let go of his waist and pull him by his arms. Trowa couldn't say no, and gently slipped one arm off the boy's waist, grasping his outstretched hand instead and pushed off a little harder and stronger, bringing Quatre along and giving him the room needed to stretch out into the Arabesque. With the extra room, Quatre legs and arms arched perfectly while Trowa used his strength to pull him along for a full lap.

As Trowa's power began to wane, Quatre slowly brought his leg down and his body up, gracefully moving upwards and straight into Trowa's space before he completely put his other skate to the ice. They were only a breath apart, then. Trowa's arm was still wound around Quatre's waist while the other held his hand. Blushing but still smirking teasingly, Quatre pushed gently with his skates to keep himself moving closer into the taller skater's pace. He could feel Trowa's warmth invading his cold skin, sending shivers up and down his skin… Trowa responded with a smile and the arm wound around Quatre's waist tightened, pulling the blonde in flush against Trowa's chest, their lips only inches away.

"What is that kid doing on my ICE!" Petra's voice screamed in outrage, cutting through the moment like an axe. She had come back out of her office and was leaning against the railings, her face bright red in anger.

This time both Trowa and Dimitri heard it and jumped, their attention flying to the very angry woman watching them.

Trowa tightened his grip on Quatre's hands, but slowed them and slid closer to the door. Dimitri had already ascended the steps and was talking with his rather irate wife and calming her down.

"Thanks for skating with me. But I'd better get back to those laps before Petra freaks out. She's the disciplinarian around here." Trowa said with a smile, stopping in front of the exit and opening the door for him like a gentleman.

Trowa went to help Quatre out, putting his hand on Quatre's bare arm to help him over the step, then stopped abruptly. "Quat, you're frozen!"

Quatre couldn't help but laugh at Trowa's concern. Truth be told, Quatre had been frozen most of the day! He didn't take the cold well at all, but it was winter and all day he had been outdoors or riding with the windows down in Trowa's car... He was always frozen, "I have a coat up there," Quatre said instead, pointing to the spot in the bleachers where he had left his things.

Trowa smiled, "You'll get too warm bundling up in a coat. I still have a little less than an hour of practice..." Trowa walked out onto the rubber-protected cement with Quatre, moving a few strides to a duffle bag left on the edge of the bleachers. He sat down gracefully and dug in, pulling out a thick warm sweater in navy blue with "Barton" written across the back and the international Figure Skating League's logo on the sleeve. He unzipped the front and dropped if over Quatre's shoulders, rubbing the blonde's arms to get a little warmth in him. Quatre felt himself blushing, and wrapped himself up in the big fluffy sweater indulgently. It was warm, and soft, and even though it was long and big, Quatre couldn't help but think of Trowa wearing it, which only made him cuddle deeper into the plush cotton.

Petra's voice became clearer as she neared the door again, Dimitri unable to keep her in the office any longer. Trowa hopped over to the ice like there was a fire underneath him, sending a conspiratorial wink to Quatre as he jumped straight over the boards and took to laps, pretending as if he hadn't been doing anything different the whole time.

"And you'd better be doing LAPS for the rest of practice, Young Man! You were LATE today!" Petra hollered, moving back into her office and slammed the door, effectively locking her husband out as well.

Trowa stopped himself from snickering and continued his laps of the rink, waiting for Dimitri to give him the thumbs up to slow down and do a few little twists to keep it interesting. Quatre had slid back to his things, a few more benches up, for a better view of Trowa on the ice. He was beautiful when he skated; just free on the ice and graceful, Trowa seemed to let his guard down and just enjoy what he was doing. Watching him, Quatre remembered how he had felt dancing… Mmm… quick rotations and little steps on his full pointe shoes, completely straight on his toes like only a select few could possibly ever do. He missed it so much.

But... Quatre stretched out on the bleacher, sliding down to lay on his side and watch Trowa while he pillowed his head on the sleeve to Trowa's sweater. But...Quatre had felt that thrill, sliding into an Arabesque on the ice like that. It was a different feeling, having to fight with himself to keep steady and moving on the ice, but skating had that same challenge and drive for perfection as dance. And the movements didn't bother his feet the way even fooling-around doing demi-pointe bellet did. He could hardly stand on tip toes without his feet bothering him a little bit, which pretty much excluded most forms of dance. But Skating....it hadn't bothered him at all.

The large form of Dimitri settled a few rows ahead of Quatre and a little to his left, the man reclining against the next row of bleachers to comfortably watch Trowa's improvised laps. But it was obvious to Quatre that the man sat there for a reason. He just didn't know what yet.

"So, how'd you meet Trowa?" Dimitri's voice asked, unable to force non-chalonce over his inquisition, and he looked straight at Quatre and began to grill him: "Have you dated many guys? Are you using drugs of any kind? Are you a practitioner of some odd voodoo religion? Are you an athletic spy?"

Was he serious? In a moment of clarity, Quatre realized what his sister's boyfriends must have felt like when Quatre's father had cornered them before a date. He never thought that HE would even be on the receiving end of the fifth degree, and just that thought made him break out into giggles.

Dimitri looked confused at the boy, then he must have realized that he sounded like a crazed parent because he started to chuckle as well, "Never mind. The Boyshka's usually got good taste."

Quatre nodded slowly… and waited for a moment, waiting for the right moment to ask. "What does Boyshka, mean, anyway, If you don't mind me asking, uh...Sir?" Quatre's curiosity finally got the better of him.

Dimitri broke out into hearty chuckles, holding his sides as he doubled over in laughter and slapped his leg.

Trowa, obviously, was listening to the whole thing, because he started to chuckle too, "It's just 'boy' with his stupid endings thrown on. He thinks it's funny to pretend to be a stereotypical Russian who ends everything in 'shka' He calls Cathy 'Princess', simple enough, and what do I get... 'Boyshka!' It sounds like a dish!" Trowa threw back at his coach. The argument sounded more like a routine between the two than a real complaint.

"Ah, but 'princess' isn't a compliment!" Dimitri's booming voice called back with mirth, "At least 'Boyshka' is neutral!"

Trowa scoffed and turned into a toe loop, then followed by a one footed turn, continuing his laps backwards now to switch it up. The banter continued while Trowa did his laps as Petra had commanded, Dimitri and Trowa bouncing off each other easily. Quatre was able to jump in a time or two, but all in all he was having a good time listening to the two of them gossip and bicker like old ladies.

It wasn't until a little carpool of tweens started to show up and drop their things on the bleachers that Quatre noticed that the hour was almost up and nine was fast approaching. Quatre noticed Trowa begin to change his skating style, slowing down and doing stretch-like cool-downs instead of the previous strength training. Quatre cleaned up his things into a little pile and moved down to pick up Trowa's things as well so they'd be ready.

Trowa was off the ice at two minutes to nine, and as soon as he was through the exit, four or five other skaters were on, starting warm ups on their own. Trowa slid his skate-guards onto the blades of his boots and moved over to Quatre, smiling while he snatched a towel from his bag and rubbed it across his face and neck. Trowa sat down beside him, unlacing the boots expertly and shoving them into his duffle. He pulled out a pair of backless sneakers, slid his feet into them, and then he was ready to go.

Dimitri said goodbye to both of them, shaking Quatre's hand once politely, and then he went onto the ice with the new skaters. Trowa sneakily put his arm around Quatre's waist and led him towards the exit to the rink. Quatre didn't protest.

"Sorry you had to wait." Trowa apologized, grabbing his duffle and swinging it over his shoulder in one fluid movement.

Quatre just shook his head and smiled, "I liked watching you skate, and skating with you was a lot of fun."

"I haven't been a very interesting companion today," Trowa said with a sigh, leading them out to the cold, darkened parking lot through a side door. When his car wasn't there he let out a groan, "…I left my Jeep at Hadford's, didn't I?"

Quatre laughed and nodded, then slid his arm into Trowa's arm, "…nice night for a walk?"

A smile pulled at Trowa's cheeks, and he nodded softly, "Yeah… Yeah it is. Maybe I'll take you the scenic way home, too?"

"I think I'd like that" Quatre replied and snuggled against Trowa's arm, sighing in contentment. He really could get used to this. No problem at all.


	4. Chapter 4

**Keep in Time**

_Dentelle_noir_

**Summary**: AU 3x4. A suspicious accident leaves Trowa without a skating partner, sentencing him to a year without competition. Quatre is an injured dancer, trying to find a way to live without his joy. Together, they make new rules and find a new path.

**  
**** Chapter Four **

Trowa was out of the lot and into the street. 9pm on a weekday wasn't very lively in that town, so they had the road mostly to themselves. They had lapsed into a companionable quiet back at the rink, but as the ride continued on, that quiet was quickly turning into an awkward silence which Trowa was not very good at breaking. 

He moved for the radio, but Quatre cut him off by pulling out Trowa's MP3 player and handing it back to him. "I'd hate for you to forget this," Quatre said, "It's very personal."

Trowa lifted a brow.

Quatre laughed, moving close enough in the confined space of the car to brush against Trowa's arm; "Trowa!" Quatre teased, "Don't tell me you've never realized how much your MP3 player tells me about you! Your whole life is on that! I can see your soul!"

Trowa scoffed, "My soul?"

Quatre laughed outright, with that merry tinkling laughter that made Trowa's insides warm and melted away the slight awkwardness, "I can tell everything about you from the songs you listen to!"

Trowa was still skeptical, and Quatre took the challenge with a grin, "I can tell that you, Mr Trowa Barton, are _totally_ hardcore. I mean, Pearl Jam, AC/DC, and Rammstein..... I mean, I hardly noticed the Hilary Duff in there."

Trowa felt his face burn for a moment, completely busted.

Quatre smiled, lifting a brow in challenge, "I'm waiting for your excuse. It's your sister's? It was on there when you bought it? It's for a class? C'mon!"

Trowa stopped at a red light and turned to Quatre, all seriousness on his face, and began, "There might never be a sign. No flashing neon light, telling you to make your move, or when the time is right. _So, why not!!_" Trowa sang, grinning, _"Take a crazy chance? Why not... Do a crazy dance? If you lose a moment, you might lose a lot, so why not!"_

"You keep waiting where you are, for what you'll never know, but let's just get into your car and Go, Baby Go! WHY NOT!" 

"_Why not!"_ Quatre's voice chimed in, grinning brightly as he added his voice to the chorus and then took the bridge, "_Ohoh! _

_I could be the one for you! Oh, yeah! Maybe yes, maybe no! Ooh!_"

Trowa began tapping the wheel, totally losing all pretence of cool as he crooned along, "_If you lose a moment, you may lose a lot_." Trowa sang, his deep bass hilarious as he failed at singing soprano! But neither of them seemed to care as they screamed their lungs out and danced along to their own tune, the jeep cruising along, Trowa having too much fun to do anything else but enjoy Quatre's company, all the way to the blonde's driveway, singing, moving, and bumping against each other merrily as they continued on like fools.

Trowa was out the driver's door, planning to open Quatre's door for him, but was met half way by the already-out blonde, smiling mischievously. Just that smile was twisting Trowa's insides around in knots.

Suddenly Trowa realized where they were-- Quatre was leaving. He wouldn't get to see him or talk to him until gym the next day. The sheer dread in that thought scared him.

The blonde saw his distress and turned, shooting him an enquiring look, "Do you want to walk me to my door?" Quatre asked, his gentle smile coaxing Trowa to accompany him as far as he could.

Quatre fished for his keys and found them far too soon. He stood there for a moment, his eyes darting to catch Trowa's and then turning back to his keys. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow?" Quatre said, shifting his weight and playing with his keys gently, wondering if Trowa was going to be bold enough to give him a goodnight kiss.

Trowa's hand flew out and latched onto Quatre's arm, his mouth attempting to articulate, but nothing was coming out. But that hand said it all: "Don't go."

Quatre smiled, leaning up to bring himself into Trowa's space and mirroring their position back at the rink. This time, though, there was no hesitation. Trowa leaned in the few inches and pressed their lips together in a soft, affectionate kiss that warmed Trowa all the way down to his curling toes.

Trowa broke the kiss first, but stayed standing in Quatre's space, with his arm still wrapped around Quatre to keep him close, "I want to know you more, Quat. I can't seem to get enough of you." Trowa finally articulated.

Blinking slowly, Quatre shot Trowa a mischievous smile, dropped his packsack to the cement, and bent to dig into the front pocket.

From inside the house, footsteps sounded, nearing the door, "Quatre? Is that you out there?" a woman's voice called curiously.

Quatre looked to the door and then to the lack of space between him and Trowa. Shooting the tall skater a comically put-out look, Quatre took a full step away from Trowa.

Iria opened the door, looking to the unexpected tall and handsome stranger on her porch with a mix of surprise and wariness. Quatre saved the moment, though, when he laughed gently to catch his sister's attention and took a step over the threshold, half in and half out of his sister's house. He waited for her to walk away. She grinned saucily and found a good spot to watch instead.

Quatre leant back out the door, grabbing Trowa's hand and dropping something into it. "There's no better way to get to know me," Quatre said cryptically and walked fully into the doorway behind him, closing it behind him with a wink.

Trowa opened his palm to see a little deep purple MP3 player in his hand.

And the song cued was "Why Not".

Cathy fell back into the kiss, while Jeff hardly left her time to breathe as he plundered her mouth, trying to shove her blouse open with the other hand. The sound of the Jeep didn't register in her lust-fogged mind until her brother burst into the house. He wasn't even out of his shoes before he ran over to the couch where his sister was, who was now sitting bolt upright and watching her brother in gaping bewilderment.

He swung, grabbing the wall and moving from the foyer to couch with a wild turn, "_You'll never get to heaven, or even to LA, if you don't believe there's a ~Way!"_ Trowa sung, his voice hitting high as he moved into the chorus, grabbing Cathy's hand and dipping to swing dance with her, twirling under her arm with excitement.

He dropped her hand in a moment and ran upstairs. Music suddenly blared from upstairs, filling the whole house with Quatre's songs after Trowa plugged the MP3 player into his stereo.

"What the HELL, TROWA!" Cathy bellowed, finally moving out of shock.

Trowa had slipped on a sweater and hooked his stereo onto an extension cord, silencing the house for a moment. Taking the banister instead of the stairs, he slid down to the kitchen and plugged the stereo in again. Hooking the stereo up in the kitchen window to flood their backyard with the music, he began to look for his skates.

With the music no longer blaring straight into his brain, he noticed for the first time that his sister wasn't just 'not alone' but that she was not alone with Jeff Marson, "a hockey player with a pretty face but the IQ of a gnat" as Cathy herself used to say.

Trowa, on the other hand, was too happy to care about her hypocrisies right then.

The music replayed. "A turn, and an axel there in to a step sequence. What do you think?" Trowa said, moving absurdly on the carpet (the moves looking ridiculous in one spot, but Trowa and Cathy could visualize what he was talking about easily enough).

"I think you need a fucking girlfriend." Jeff spat out with a sneer.

Trowa suddenly changed his whole demeanor, staring straight at Jeff, "Oh? Are you applying? Sorry, Jeffy-boy. You're a touch too late to fill the position. And you're way too butch for me, anyway. Sorry to break your heart." Trowa snipped back, still riding his Quatre-induced high.

He grabbed the duffle containing his skates and was gone. He quickly put his skates on, laced them up, and raced to the outdoor rink in their backyard. He was just too excited, too exuberant and too damn addicted to Quatre to slow down. There was only one way for Trowa to get it out and that was rocking out on the ice.

Neighbors screamed, snow fell, and Cathy turned off the outdoor lights but it didn't matter. Trowa kept skating and skating until nothing but the stars were watching him. All he could think about was his gentle smile and sweet kiss.

Getting up for 6 am practice was hell, but Trowa was well used to little sleep. He hadn't even bothered going up to his bed to crash the night before: he simply shucked his skates off, walked straight to the couch, fell face first into the pillows, and passed out.

He stuffed a fresh set of clothes for school into his bag, pulled on a sweater and skate-pants, and took to the jeep with his duffle, too sleepy to really notice how huge the car felt without anyone in the passenger seat.

However, when he got to the ice rink, using his key to come in through the side door, he was met by a very pissed off Petra holding her cell phone. Dimitri, never an early riser by nature, was slowly shuffling around the upstairs manager's office with a coffee in hand. He didn't look like he'd be of any help this time, if he had any idea what was going on, anyway.

Trowa knew, though, the moment he saw that phone. Cathy had ratted him out.

"Trowa Barton!" Petra started, her voice hard and pissed, "What were you thinking staying up until God knows how long out on that horrible homemade backyard rink of yours last night! What's going on with you! You can't possibly hope to train well with so little sleep. You're going to injure yourself and _then_ where will you be!"

Trowa was going to explain that he was just too excited to settle down, but one look at Petra's eyes told him not to bother. There was no grey area for her. He passed her by and pulled his skates out, suddenly feeling rebellious against her heavy-handed control. He wasn't some child who had to be put in a time out, for God's sakes. Skating was his life. He could handle it.

"Trowa! How dare you walk away from me when I'm talking to you!" Petra growled, her face flaming in indignation.

Trowa leveled a look at her. "Petra, I am a professional. You don't need to tell me that today will be hard. I just wanted to skate, so I did." Trowa said, suddenly picturing his sister in her place. They were the same. They were as close to him as a person could be, but they did not get him at all. They tried to help and tried to do what was best, but they did not know him.

Trowa tied the knot fiercely, reigning in his bubbling temper, and took to the ice, taking out his MP3 player and finding his "hard" playlist.

Dimitri had emerged from the office, two hot cups of coffee in hand. Petra rounded on him, eyes wide, "Can you believe he just talked to me like that! He's never talked to me like that!" She hissed.

Dimitri furrowed his brow and turned his eye to Trowa, watching him stretch and pull. He put his arm around his pregnant wife and began to massage the tense out of her. "Petra," He said with a soothing hum, "I don't think you've ever talked to Trowa like that before, either. Cathy, yes, but not Trowa. He's a good boy, and he's completely serious about his skating. If Trowa broke his leg, you can bet that he'd be here anyway with a rigged blade on the bottom of that cast. He's grown up."

Petra furrowed her brows, "How grown up is it to stay up all hours of the night skating?"

Dimitri chuckled, "I believe we have been known to do that when something interesting was happening," Dimitri chuckled, giving his wife a suggestive rub with his hips. She rolled her eyes, but didn't comment.

"Well, he's your skater. You deal with him, then." Petra grumbled finally, taking the offered cup of coffee and sipping lightly on it (she wasn't supposed to have coffee at all, but she suckered her husband into letting her have one small cup in the morning). She moodily dropped a kiss on her husband's large, worn hands, and stepped out of his grasp. She scowled lightly and pointed for him to go and deal with Trowa while she went back up to the office, stepping down finally and letting him deal with it.

"Boyshka!" Dimitri hollered, catching his attention over the hard driving beat of the music blaring through his headphones. Trowa took one out of his ear and looked over at his coach, a light scowl on his own face after being scolded so childishly (and completely unaware of how childish it made him look).

Dimitri couldn't help but smile, "So. You kissed him yesterday?" He guessed right away.

Trowa slowed his movements and slid the other headphone out of his ear, letting a goofy grin light up his face. Dimitri bursted out into deep bubbling laughter, watching his charge go all doe eyed.

Trowa changed the music track and slid in the PA jack, letting the pop melody fill the rink as he moved through his stretches grinning from ear to ear now that he had a captive audience to talk to about Quatre! "Dimitri, he's just so...God! I want to be with him all the time! Everything he does just... Just makes me want to..." unable to articulate himself, Trowa instead leapt into an axel, turning once, twice, three times before landing solidly and continuing on, racing on that same high from last night.

Dimitri picked his jaw up from the floor and watched as Trowa continued on without realizing that he had just landed the triple axel they had been working on for almost two months now!

"He's so sweet and kind, but he's got a wicked sense of humor in there too! And for some reason, he seems to like being around me too! I can't believe- Dim? What are you looking at?" Trowa snapped, catching his coach staring unbelieving at him. "If you have a problem with Quatre being a guy--"

"Boyshka," Dimitri cut in before his charge could work himself up, "You just landed your triple axel!"

While Trowa blinked stupidly, a grinning Dimitri came out onto the ice; "Do it again."

Trowa couldn't wait for gym class to begin. If he had Quatre's number he would've asked him if he needed a ride just to get a little more time with the blonde, but sadly he had Quatre's music, but no number. He had to wait through two agonizingly long classes until he practically sprinted across campus to get to the outdoor rink.

He was, of course, the first one there, so he slipped his skates on and began to do circuits to warm himself up. By the time he had counted fifteen laps, there were a handful of students on the ice and the rest were on their way, while Quatre was climbing over the boards to get onto the ice, smiling at Trowa warmly.

Trowa skated over to him, unable to stay away from that smile beckoning him, and steadied Quatre by the elbow. "Well hello there," Trowa said first, unable to keep himself from saying something.

Quatre smiled brilliantly up at him and pushed off on his skates, sending the two of them gently spinning, "You missed me?" Quatre teased, his smile saying his knew fully well that Trowa hadn't been able to think of anything else.

Trowa grinned and began skating backwards to keep Quatre in sight. Trowa shrugged without commenting, trying to play it cool, but the little disappointment dimming in Quatre's eyes undid him. "I landed my triple axel this morning because of you," he admitted.

Quatre blinked for a second then broke out into bright, vivacious laughter, "I'm glad I'm having a good effect then!"

Trowa found himself smiling again, already entangled in Quatre's charm once more. "What are you doing after school today?" Quatre asked, tangling his hand in Trowa's and allowing the professional to drag him around the rink while he experimented with the one-footed tricks he had begun to work with the day before. He found that he was nowhere near as wobbly this time!

Trowa coached him to balance against his forearm as he increased their speed, letting Quatre stretch out into the aberesque again; It seemed to be Quatre's favourite next to spinning. Unfortunately, Quatre did not have the feet movement precise enough to spin; he kept getting caught, unused to the drag of the blade versus his own foot for a ballet spin. "I have practice, of course, until 9. But I actually have a half hour leeway to get there from the end of school. If you want, I could give you a ride home or something before I have to run?" Trowa admitted, hoping that Quatre would agree just so that he could spend that little bit of extra time with him.

"I'd love a ride. This way I can talk to you a bit, anyway." Quatre admitted. "I have stretch class today from 6 to 7, so I wouldn't really be able to go out, anyway. How's Saturday?"

Trowa sighed, "I have practice from 6 am to noon. Then a break from noon until three, since they have public skating then, when I usually do weight training. Then I have practice from 3 to 6, a break for half an hour, and then more practice until 9."

Quatre winced sympathetically, "I remember weekends like that. This whole concept of 'weekend' was new to me after I broke my toes. I used to have ballet practices lined up one right after the other the whole time. Tuesdays used to be the best day to go out, because I only had three practices instead of the regular four! It sucks that I won't get to talk to you... Wait! Do you have a cell phone?"

Trowa nodded, catching on to Quatre's idea quickly, "I forgot to give you the number yesterday. I'll get it for you today, alright?" Trowa slid in before the coach came down with the iron first.


	5. Chapter 5

**Keep in Time**

_Dentelle_noir_

**Summary**: AU 3x4. A suspicious accident leaves Trowa without a skating partner, sentencing him to a year without competition. Quatre is an injured dancer, trying to find a way to live without his joy. Together, they make new rules and find a new path.

Re-posted old chapters with new beta work, new chapters to be added VERY SOON!

**Chapter 5 **

Dimitri had Trowa doing jump after jump after jump to recreate that triple axel he'd landed so perfectly in the morning. He succeeded in landing it about six times that day, but never as clean as the first time. The next best landing was the first one directly after school. Trowa didn't mention that he had driven Quatre home, the two of them cranking the music up and speeding all around town before Trowa quickly dropped Quatre off in his driveway and sped to get to the rink in time. He had been two minutes late, but no one noticed because he had changed into his skating gear back at the school.

Finally nine rolled around and Trowa wearily pulled himself off the ice. The very late night coupled with the intense practice and hard landings had worn him out completely. He was packing his duffle, looking forward to getting home and in bed, when his cell phone jingled. The number wasn't Cathy, and his coach was in the room with him, so that only left Quatre.

Suddenly finding a spurt of energy, Trowa flipped the phone on and answered with a warm "hello."

He could hear music playing lightly in the background _"Nas ne dogonyat..."_ and the gentle sounds of running water and a few clanks of submerged metal. Doing dishes, Trowa guessed.

"Hi!" Quatre picked up, "You done practice now?"

Trowa slid his things away quietly, charmed by the sounds of Quatre's everyday life, "Yeah. It was rough. Dim's getting me to do axel after axel trying to land it again. I think I've bruised my bruises. You doing dishes?"

Quatre's merry laughter rang over the phone connection, but it wasn't anywhere near the same as hearing it firsthand. Trowa waved goodbye to Petra (who was walking out onto the ice to start coaching the novice students with Dimitri) and went towards his car, sprinting through the little tunnel where he got little reception, and emerging at his car to a static-free conversation. "Sorry missed that?"

"I said, I'm finishing the dinner dishes while my food cooks. I made way too much ravioli and Iria's working nights." Quatre said, leaving the unspoken invitation in the air for Trowa to take or ignore.

Trowa froze, half in his jeep and half out, unsure of what to say at first. "So you have to eat all alone?" Trowa started.

The sounds of the running water turned off, and Trowa could hear him moving around the kitchen, "Yeah. I usually have to most nights. It kinda sucks. Do you wanna come over for a bit?"

Trowa was already starting the engine in his jeep.

Quatre's house was gorgeous. It wasn't something that Trowa would expect a hospital intern to own. And Quatre had said that his sister wasn't married either. Quatre had mentioned that his father had money, but, walking under the chandelier in the foyer and being led into the state of the art kitchen, Trowa began to believe it was more than just 'a little money'.

But once Quatre had Trowa down at the kitchen table and was measuring out portions of ravioli for the two of them, chatting happily to him, with the music playing lightly in the background, Trowa forgot all about his slight inferiority complex in light of the company.

Trowa hadn't realized how much he hated being alone until Cathy had started going out all the time and leaving him. He felt like a lost puppy sometimes, but then he'd just shake his head and do something productive. With Quatre here, smirking and laughing, Trowa felt that missing piece snap back into place with a better fit then before.

Quatre put a bowl of ravioli down in front of Trowa, "Perfect, one cup. And did you want a half cup of sauce or a quarter cup?" Quatre asked while measuring out a half cup onto his own.

Trowa's heart warmed at the very idea. He didn't even have to ask or pick through things. Quatre knew exactly what he could eat and how careful he had to be. He completely understood him because he competed too. "You must miss ballet a lot."

Quatre furrowed his brows, "Every day. It... It was my life." He shrugged. "I used to do ballet like you do skating. I had practice from 6am, straight until my first class, which I almost always missed because the studio was un-booked for the hour, then I would go to school and spend my lunches doing weight training in the gym, and then more practice after school until time for bed. I hardly knew anything else."

Quatre took a hesitant bite of his ravioli, but continued, "I've broken bones before. Hell, I had fractured my toes countless times before that one landing. That's what hurt me," Quatre explained, "I was doing a gete--you know, jump from one foot to the other; basic stuff-- and I just didn't get my foot flat enough for the landing. The tip of my pointe shoe stuck against the floor and didn't glide. I went forward; my foot didn't. It was with enough force, and in just the right angle, I guess, that it broke four of my five toes on my right foot."

Trowa winced in sympathy, but Quatre just chuckled and continued, "It didn't bother me that much at first, I mean I taped them up, got x-rays done, the usual. I've broken toes many times before. You just take some Tylenol, take the next day or two off if you can manage it, and come back a little meaner. Well, the next day my whole right foot throbbed. I should have known something was wrong then. But I didn't want to miss another class. We dance with injuries all the time." Quatre shrugged and looked to Trowa. Trowa was smiling and nodding empathetically (he had skated with pulled tendons, fractured arms, and sprains nearly everywhere he could get them).

Moving to sit facing Trowa, Quatre continued, "So I, stupidly, wrapped the foot, took some more painkillers, and went to the next class. Because I could barely put weight on the one, I over abused my other foot. I don't even know when or how I fractured those toes, but the doctors said I had. Said I was on so much Tylenol that they were surprised I was feeling anything." Quatre said with a wry smile. "And that's how I fucked up my feet. That second break never quite healed right, and the first break was much more serious than I took it for."

Quatre lifted his feet onto the edge of Trowa's chair and wiggled his sock-clad toes. The movement was all wrong. "Now I can barely stand on my tip toes without a little pain, and to do it for more than a few minutes in a row... The pain's so bad that it makes my knees weak."

Trowa brought his hand down to touch Quatre's toes, but the blonde startled, bringing the foot back with lightning speed.

"Let me see." Trowa said gently, almost as if calming a skittish mouse, and held out his hand invitingly.

Slowly, very slowly, Quatre extended his leg until his heel nudged Trowa's palm. Trowa slowly closed his hand around the sock-covered foot and began to slowly and gently rub it; starting from the insole and moving out and up with molasses speed and patience.

"I think you must have been a beautiful dancer," Trowa whispered reverently, "I can see how graceful you are on those shaky skates. You simply glow when you can just move along."

Trowa massaged a little deeper, "Or, when you're singing along and shaking it in the car," Trowa said with a light tease, moving a little higher towards Quatre's toes, "You just smile this huge, brilliant grin and everyone around you can see how much you light up. Dancing is your life. I'm surprised that you could even bear to stop."

Quatre reclined lightly in his seat, grinning wickedly, "I still do stretch classes. They keep me in shape and my muscles ready for dance once my feet allow it. When I first started, I could barely make it through the first half hour. But I kept to it. My feet still bother me when I push them too much, but now I can make it through the whole class. I may not be able to dance on my toes now, but I can be ready and in shape for when I can."

It was just after that when Quatre slid his feet out of Trowa's hands and leaned himself in close. "Thanks for caring," he whispered so close to Trowa that he could feel the warmth of his breath against his lips. Trowa closed the distance between them with a passionate kiss.

On the way home, Trowa couldn't stop thinking about what Quatre had said. He kept doing ballet; he kept fighting through the injury. Trowa knew that if he ever broke his leg, he would continue his strength training and concentrate on timing and choreography. He knew that he wouldn't be able to stay off the ice. He would need to be near it just to stay sane.

When he got home it was almost 11 at night and the house was black except for a blue-tinge coming from the living room TV. Cathy was up, munching on popcorn and watching a movie. Trowa didn't recognize what it was, but there was a stack of movies on the table all bearing the familiar cases from the rental place. She was all alone.

Trowa dropped his duffle bag at the door and moved over to the couch. She was sitting curled up on her side of the couch, an afghan thrown over her feet (Trowa remembered how many times she stuck her cold toes into his side when they would watch TV together; Trowa laying against his side of the couch as she sat propped up against the armrest, draping her feet over his lap). "Hey" he said, announcing his presence.

Cathy didn't look up, didn't say hello back, and didn't ask him where the hell he's been for the last two hours.

"What are you watching? I don't recognize it." Trowa asked, walking over to the couch. Moving to sit down, Trowa waited for Cathy to lift her feet and make room for him underneath them.

She pulled her legs in tight to herself, taking the afghan with her. "Of course you don't recognize it. I know I've never seen it before. All the other kids in school have, but not me. I hate being out of the loop. I won't let them laugh at me again for not getting the joke." She said moodily, only catching Trowa's eyes for the last bit of her sentence. Anger was radiating off her, centered on him.

Trowa leant over the gap between them and wrapped his arm around Cathy's shoulders, planning to pull her into his side for a comforting hug. She quickly gave him a tight smile of thanks and neatly shrugged his arm off. Her legs pulled in tighter to her side the minute he brushed against them. He was obviously unwelcome.

"I hope you weren't out with that stupid blonde again, Trowa. Getting involved with him is going to bring your skating down. You'd better get to bed. You have practice tomorrow at six am. If you fell asleep right now you'll get six hours of sleep. Petra's going to be pissed." Cathy said, staring resolutely ahead.

Trowa hid the hurt, and gave her a tight smile back. "Okay. Thanks, sis. See you later." He said, getting up quickly and moving up the dark stairwell to his equally dark room. He shut his door quickly and sagged against it, the overwhelming urge to scream bubbling up in his chest.

He slid down the door to sit on the floor, cradling his head in his forearms. She hated him. His sister, his only family, the other half of team Barton, hated him with a passion. She couldn't even stand to look at him. The urge to cry was overwhelming, but he would not let a tear fall.

He was too miserable to care at first, but there was something jabbing into his hip. He tried to shift a little, but whatever it was in his pocket that was poking him was dug resolutely in the soft flesh at the juncture of his leg and hip. After getting mad enough at it, Trowa dug into his pocket to pull the thing out, intent on chucking it through the fucking window, just to take his frustration out on something.

It was a slim little deep purple MP3 player; Quatre's MP3 player.

He unwound the headphones, slid them in his ear, and hit play. He searched through Quatre's playlists until he found the song that had been on that night, after they had sat on the couch; after Quatre moved to sit astride him as they kissed and touched hesitantly, fumblingly. It was the first time he had ever wanted to make-out with someone so badly... Quatre had blushed profusely when he told him that, and just kissed him deeper and hotter.

Trowa settled his head against his arms, his exhaustion catching up to him, and he fell asleep, silently mouthing the song as he passed out into fitful dreams.

_We'll run away, keep everything simple  
Night will come down, our guardian angel  
We rush ahead, the crossroads are empty  
Our spirits rise, they're not gonna get us_

My love for you, always forever  
Just you and me, all else is nothing  
Not going back, not going back there  
They don't understand,  
They don't understand us

Nothing can stop us, not now, I love you  
They're not gonna get us,  
they're not gonna get us…


	6. Chapter 6

**Keep in Time**

_Dentelle_noir_

**Summary**: AU 3x4. A suspicious accident leaves Trowa without a skating partner, sentencing him to a year without competition. Quatre is an injured dancer, trying to find a way to live without his joy. Together, they make new rules and find a new path.

Re-posted old chapters with new beta work, new chapters to be added VERY SOON!

**Chapter 6 **

The Saturday morning sun blinded him with light and forced him into wakefulness. Thankfully it was 5:25 when he awoke to shy away from the annoying brightness. His alarm had been going for nearly twenty minutes, but he had fallen asleep leaning against the damn door, feet away from the alarm, and still had the earphones stuck in to filter out the annoying beeping. Trowa moved, feeling pulls and cracks as he unknotted himself from his position one limb at a time. He slid the earphones off and hit the alarm to silence it. He could barely move to pull himself to the shower, but somehow he made it under the hot spray and sat himself down in the bathtub, letting the shower spray wash over his seated form like a waterfall as he stretched his legs out carefully.

It would be better to show up late then to show up cramped. Slowly he moved through some elementary stretches under the soothing hot water until his legs were cooperating and his back and shoulders began to loosen.

He managed to get to practice on time and was out on the ice doing circles before Petra even emerged from her office to send him an annoyed look, the phone cradled in her crossed arms again. But she didn't say anything this time. Not a peep, and he couldn't have wished for more.

Dimitri brought down three cups of coffee to the rink that day, leaving a deep green mug on the boards for his student before he tossed the crash pads onto the ice and demanded axels again and again, all day long.

Sitting astride the leg press machine in the weight room upstairs from the rink, already covered in sweat from the beginning of his workout, Trowa took the initiative to fish in his ever-present duffle to pull out his cell and speed dial Quatre's number.

The blonde picked up after a few rings with an embarrassed "Hey."

"_Nice_ ring tone, Quatre." Trowa heard a sneering voice (which sounded suspiciously like Jason), snickering from the background.

"What?" Trowa asked, trying to get Quatre's attention away from that weasel.

Quatre huffed and yelled "I'm going to kill you guys!" behind him. "Sorry, yeah, hi. One of my so-called 'friends' got a hold of my cell and screwed with my ring tones." In the background someone declared responsibility by bursting out into uncontrollable laughter.

"I could call back if it's a bad time..." Trowa tried to bow out gracefully, but Quatre wouldn't hear of it.

There was movement and sounds of protest muffled (by Quatre's shoulder, Trowa assumed), and then he heard Quatre shout again with more authority this time, "I'll meet you at the Hot Topic!" 

There was the sound of a door opening, and suddenly the loud peripherals quieted and Quatre gave the phone all his attention with a smile in his voice, "Now that I dropped those morons. Hi! On break?"

Trowa reclined against the cool back of weight-bench seat, "Sorta. Taking an un-official Quatre-Break." He charmed.

"Oh, I'm a break now? What's gonna happen if you're caught?" Quatre played along.

Trowa chuckled, "If you start hearing machinery shifting and me starting to grunt, you know a coach walked in and I'm doing my leg presses." He joked, then turned serious, "I didn't realize you'd be out. I can call back."

Quatre laughed, and Trowa could almost visualize the blonde waving his hand dismissively, "I said it was no problem. Those guys will be in the Hot Topic for hours. It's like a candy store of fashion. I really don't need anymore crap I only wear around them. I don't even like most of that stuff. How was practice? Land any more triples?"

Trowa groaned, "I've landed on my ass for hours after hours, but I seem to be getting a bit better. I'm hurting all over, but what else is new? I slept funny last night, too, which doesn't help." That gave him an idea as he remembered last night. "Cathy rented a whole stack of movies. I don't even know what's all there. I thought you might want to come over and watch some? I have practice until Nine....No, I'll talk to Dimitri into letting me off early tonight, if you'd be interested in coming over?"

Quatre's voice sounded charmed, "Yeah, I'd love to. I don't have any other plans, so, just give me a call when you can get out and I'll be ready. Want me to bring snacks or something?"

"Of course not," Trowa said with a grin, incredibly happy that Quatre seemed excited to take up his offer, "I'll give you a call when I can get out and then I'll pick you up?"

"Who's he talking to up there?" Petra's voice filtered up to the weight room, followed by the heavy sounds of Dimitri ascending the stairs.

"Dim's coming. I'll call you!" Trowa said in a hushed whisper.

"Go! Bye!" Quatre called back and hung right up, giving Trowa time to close the phone and raise the calf press before Dim peeked his head through the door with a furrowed brow.

Trowa smiled, palming the phone sneakily (even though he suspected Dimitri knew exactly what he was doing from the smirk on the older man's face).

"Can I get off practice early tonight if I do well? I've got bruises on my bruises." Trowa said with his best imploring look.

Dimitri smirked wryly and began to bargain, "If you can land two triples clean, I'll let you go at eight." Trowa smiled brightly, energy and adrenaline pumping already.

Quatre's phone rang at 8:02.

Disbelieving, Quatre stared at the offending cell phone (and reminded himself to CHANGE that RING TONE), and then picked it up. "Did you kill anyone?" He answered.

Trowa was in too bright of spirits to do anything but bark with laughter, "Nope. I landed my triples. I landed almost two dozen. I landed FIVE completely clean!" he raved, unable to keep his excitement down, "Man! My rival'd be shaking in his SKATES!"

Quatre pulled himself off the couch and ran up to his room, cell phone still in hand, as he quickly made sure he had everything and looked great. "Trowa, that's WONDERFUL!" He gushed (while quickly putting a drop of concealer on a stubbornly developing pimple).

Quatre could hear the sounds of Trowa's Jeep in the background, so he knew he was on his way. Quatre ran back downstairs and threw his shoes on, hopping one footed as he congratulated. With the last lace tied, Quatre looked up and out the front window to see Trowa's Jeep pulling in. He didn't even need to tell him, and Quatre was out the door. Trowa reached to his hands-free to disconnect when he saw Quatre wave and snap his own phone closed.

Quatre was in the passenger seat and they were barreling down the streets to Trowa's house in the blink of an eye.

Once Trowa unlocked the door to the modest two story, he frowned when he was greeted by darkness. "Cathy?" He called into the house, but nothing answered but the hesitant steps of Quatre following him closely.

Trowa flicked on the lights, illuminating the living room. There was no note, but the dozen or so movies were still sitting in the coffee table. Quatre found his way to the couch and sat daintily on the edge, followed by Trowa who gave up search for his sister.

Trowa brought the handfuls of rentals over, "We have…Lots." Trowa began to scan titles…he didn't recognize any of them, but Quatre was chuckling openly.

Holding up one, Trowa squinted, "Is this called 'Scary Movie' or did they misprint the description?"

Quatre giggled and pitched his voice to a squealing falsetto, "I see dead people."

Trowa lifted a brow in confusion.

"That's from the '6th sense'…" Quatre ventured, "They spoofed it in 'Scary Movie'."

"I think this is why Cathy was so mad. She said that she kept missing jokes. We never really watched movies, and we were always so busy…"

Quatre smiled, "YouTube was very helpful for me. My friends used to laugh because I didn't know the taco bell dog. 'Yo Quero Taco Bell?". But, I have seen the Geico commercials now, since I've moved." Quatre began to explain it, smiling and laughing at the re-telling until he coaxed a smile out of the taller boy. Trowa began to feel glad that he'd never seen it, because he didn't think hearing it himself would be any better then having Quatre tell him.

Trowa let Quatre pick something that wasn't tacky or stupid (which excluded about ¾ of the stack) and they ended up with a good old fashioned explosion-full, gun fighting, car chase movie.

Before the opening credits even ended. Trowa was curling his legs up onto the couch and trying to discreetly give them a stretch. He'd been pushing himself hard all day, and after the horrible sleep the night before they were protesting with cramps and pain.

Quatre caught on quickly though, and turned to Trowa, "Legs bugging you?"

Trowa blushed sheepishly, "I slept funny on then and they've been cramping all day," he admitted.

Quatre smiled almost a little too brightly, "C'mere." He said, tapping Trowa's foot invitingly and turned so that Quatre's lap faced him.

Unwinding his legs, Trowa let Quatre guide them to lay across his lower thighs straight out. It was damn comfortable, actually, and then Quatre brought his hand down to rest over his ankles.

Trowa couldn't stop the warmth spreading through his chest at the absent attention Quatre was lavishing on him. The blonde's attention was focused on the movie, but he was gently petting Trowa's socked feet and ankles.

Something exploded and a car lost a race, but Trowa was concentrating on Quatre instead of the movie. He could feel the blonde leaning into him, even across the distance of the middle cushion. But he wasn't sure if he should say anything and scare the blonde off. Hell, they had only met two days ago, but every minute he had free, Trowa was desperate to spend with Quatre. He wanted to be more, but Trowa knew that if the time came, he would still be desperate to keep Quatre as a friend. They fit too well together not to. Quatre seemed to be the only one (aside from Dimitri) that understood his drive and passion. Even Cathy hadn't understood—It was always about the win for her. Trowa just wanted to skate. And Quatre understood it. He had the drive and passion, and Trowa just could not get enough of him!

Quatre shifted, moving just a little bit closer while still remaining reclined against the opposite couch arm.

That was it; Trowa reached for Cathy's pile of blankets stashed under the coffee table and pulled out a pillow and the afghan. Pushing off his spot to press himself flush against the arm, Trowa flattened his legs against the back of the couch and propped the pillow up at his stomach.—making the perfect spot for another reclining person.

Quatre obviously approved because he smiled brightly and turned to take up the offered space eagerly, reclining his back against the pillow and his head against Trowa's shoulder as he stretched out. Trowa draped the afghan over the two of them and let his hand come to rest half against his own hip and half against Quatre.

Far from objecting, a pleased blush dusted Quatre's cheeks and a hesitant, thin-fingered hand came to touch Trowa's fingers. They wound their fingers together hesitently, resting their combined hands on Quatre's hip with a smile. Together they turned their attention back to the movie and settled in for a comfortable evening.

A shrill buzzing woke Quatre with a start, jostling Trowa enough to make him conscious. Quatre grabbed for his pocket with a look of shock and slapped the cell to his ear, "Iria? I'm so sorry! I fell asleep!"

Shaking away the sleepiness from his eyes, Quatre sat up and turned to look at Trowa's VCR clock. The movie was stuck looping through the menu sequence and the clock above blinked a few minutes after three am!

Trowa was desperately fighting to keep his eyes open, sensing the imperative in Quatre's body language, but days of exhaustion were wrenching him back into dream-land.

"Alight, I'm on my way right now, Iria!" Quatre agreed finally. Trowa could hear the frantic note in the woman's voice as she demanded Quatre never go out again.

Trowa pushed his legs to the floor, gritting his teeth as they refused to co-operate without sufficient force, "I'll get you home," he said, his voice sounding harsh and gritty to his own ears.

"You have practice in three hours, Trowa!" Quatre countered, holding the cell to his shoulder.

Trowa, bleary and exhausted, answered slowly, "No I don't. Dimitri's catholic."

Quatre lifted a brow in confusion, "So is half the city?"

"Very catholic." Trowa countered, "They go to 9am mass and then out for breakfast. I don't have practice until noon. Sunday's sleep in and homework day." Trowa pulled himself gingerly off the couch, joints snapping and protesting every move. He did not want to be awake.

Trowa was already sliding his coat on and grabbing his duffle, digging inside it for his keys while he walked to the door, motioning for Quatre to get his pretty little butt into his car.

Quatre opened the door to his sister's house to find her sitting right on the recliner, pointed straight to the door. He walked in confidently and walked right over to her, giving her a hug, "I am so sorry that you were worried, Iria. I fell asleep." He apologized.

Trowa was closing the door and going back home, but Quatre pinned him in place with a laser-stare, "You're staying here." Quatre demanded.

At Trowa's surprised and slightly affronted look, Quatre explained himself, "Would you let Iria drive you home?"

"I need my Jeep for practice tomorrow," Trowa responded automatically.

"Would you let her drive you and your jeep to your place then taxi home?" Quatre proposed (smiling as Trowa reacted exactly as planned with a deadpan "No Way" i_n Hell!_ Tacked on wordlessly at the end). "Then you're staying here. You're exhausted, Trowa. I'm surprised you stayed awake enough to get me home, and I was talking and talking to keep you awake the whole time. I'm not letting you drive home like that." He said sternly.

Iria piped up, "Can I talk to you, Baby Brother?" She ground out, "In The Other Room."

Quatre pointed Trowa to the couch to wait while he followed her into the kitchen, where she was leaning on one side of the island, surveying her brother from a power position while he took a seat demurely.

"I was worried when you weren't here, Quatre. We need to have Rules--"

Quatre sighed, "I know Iria, and I'm very thankful that you took me in. The last thing I want to do is create problems. It was a complete accident and will not happen again." He massaged his temples gently, the tell-tale sign of stress, "Will you let Trowa stay?"

"We can make a guest room," Iria said stern and short.

Quatre smiled with relief, "Thank God. It would be... awkward, if he had to stay with me. We're good friends, I mean, he's the best friend I've ever had, but we are...more. And it would be weird."

The knot of worry Iria had disintegrated with a look at the anxiety, but slight longing, on her bother's face. She hated herself immediately for even worrying about what her little brother could have been doing 'sleeping' over at the Skater's place.

"He can stay. No Problem." Iria said, smiling brightly and abandoning her 'guardian' mode to come over to Quatre's side of the table and give her bro a playful tug off the chair so he could formally introduce her to the boy in her living room.

Trowa, though, was out cold. He had managed to fall asleep sitting up on the small, hard, and too-flat couch. Iria was gifted it from their father when she moved in because of its fancyness.

She had made the mistake of napping on it once, and had paid for it for a good week.

Quatre went over and sat down... Nothing. "Trowa? Hey, C'mon lets get you upstairs," he said and gave the skater a good tug. Trowa rocked gently with the movement, but didn't so much as stir. He was out.

"Wake up, Kid. You're gonna regret sleeping there." Iria tried, going so far as to flick his nose. Not a twitch. "We gotta get him upstairs..."

Quatre huffed, "You think you can lift him? I sure as hell can't, and he's NOT waking up. I knew he was too exhausted to drive." He tried to wake him for a few more minutes, but gave up the goat when Iria descended the stairs with bedding in her hands. The most Quatre could do was prop a squishy pillow under Trowa's neck and slide his shoes off his feet. He tucked him in, dropping a kiss to his forehead and thanking him for getting him home, and then ascended the stairs to his own room. He still had class at nine, even if Trowa didn't.


	7. Chapter 7

**Keep in Time**

_Dentelle_noir_

**Summary**: AU 3x4. A suspicious accident leaves Trowa without a skating partner, sentencing him to a year without competition. Quatre is an injured dancer, trying to find a way to live without his joy. Together, they make new rules and find a new path.

Re-posted old chapters with new beta work, new chapters to be added VERY SOON!

**Chapter 7 **

Hurried, frantic movement trying to be silent woke him. The attempts to hide the sound only made each one worse and more jarring, and at first, Trowa couldn't figure out who was making that noise. Cathy never tried to disguise her movements in the morning.

But, he was too sore and uncomfortable to be at home. Cracking his blurry eyes, Trowa realized that he was on a very ornate (and uncomfortable) couch. He had a foggy notion of driving Quatre home--and the blonde screamingly reminding him that red meant stop-- which meant that the person moving around was probably Quatre.

He untwisted himself, wishing that he had the vertebrae of a cat since he insisted on sleeping like one these days, and made a small grunt of consciousness.

Quatre, who was fluttering about madly, was over to the couch in an instant. He took a dainty seat on the coffee table in order to face Trowa(seeming to enjoy the sheer wickedness of doing so). He was already dressed for his class-- Capri-length, cling-wrap thin, black jazz pants were slung low on his hips covering the dipping ends of his black body suit while a white zip-hoodie and an extra long, pastel-striped scarf flowed from his neck to pool on his crossed thighs.

"We tried to move you." The blonde said with concern and apology, "Are you okay this morning? That couch's terrible."

Trowa grunted "I'll live" and woke up fully after a few minutes. He noticed Quatre already had a pair of running shoes on and his backpack dangling from his fingertips. "You need to leave soon?"

Quatre smiled lightly, "Yeah. If I want to catch the bus in time I have...5 minutes to get out the door. I'm glad I got to say bye before I had to leave."

With a patronizing look, Trowa said, "I can drive you, you know. It's not that hard to do."

Quatre blinked a moment, "Are you sure? You said that you do homework today?"

Trowa began to stretch slowly, moving off the couch to stand and give his twisted, aching back a few long pulls. It didn't help much. "I got it with me. I can give you a ride there, and hell, I can give you a ride home too. I can do my assignments in the car or lobby while I'm waiting for you."

Quatre looked dubious, "Well...you can drive me there, I guess...since I've missed the bus now." He said with a rueful smile. Trowa grinned in victory.

"But you have twenty minutes to get changed and all that." Quatre stuck in with a slightly defeated pout, just so he could have the last word.

Following Quatre's directions, Trowa pulled into a lot amongst industrial warehouses situated near the highway (and nothing else). The place looked like a renovated house. Nothing but the rows of large trophies glinting down from their perch against the upstairs window portrayed it as a dance studio.

Right behind them pulled in a shiny new Volkswagen, which parked a few spots down from Trowa's space. Quatre got out of the jeep quickly, smiling brightly and waving to the other car. Out from the driver's side of the Volkswagen climbed a tall, thin girl with a tightly maintained bun in her perfectly dyed blonde hair and a cream designer coat covering her to the thighs.

She slid the imposing fashionable sunglasses off gracefully, then smiled when she caught Quatre's form heading out of the lot. "Hey Quat!" She called over brightly, the warmth of her voice circumventing Trowa's initial label of 'anal bitch'. "We've been moved to the upstairs studio today."

Quatre frowned and changed directions slightly. Instead of heading to the main door, he let Trowa around to a side entrance only a few feet away from their parking spot.

The stairs were dingy, narrow, and with Trowa's tight and aching legs, friggan painfully steep! But Trowa kept his mouth shut, though he wanted to call Quatre's school a dive when he almost gave himself a splinter on a broken section of banister.

Upstairs was a flurry of activity as tall, determined dancers in demi-pointe shoes tried to move through the narrow hallway, which seemed to be all the dance studio was; It was made of nothing but a slim whitewashed hallway with one dressing room branching off at the end (with a completely open door, Trowa noticed) and an office of some sort at the far, long end of the L structure. He didn't see any sort of lounge, though, and had resigned himself to doing his homework in his car when Quatre led them through one more door and into the studio.

It was HUGE! The lack of hallway room was obvious in the face of the sheer expanse of free space. One wall was lined floor to ceiling with mirrors and a sturdy set of two-height bars were set at waist height into the walls. The floor was all white (with a multitude of scratches and scuff marks for decoration) in some sort of thick laminate that felt springy and cushioning. The short walls in the rectangular studio were covered with a state-of-the-art stereo system at one end with the door and a dozen or so chairs at the other.

Quatre smiled with slight apology, "The only thing they have up here is the chairs. Usually they do the little kids' classes up here and the parents like to watch. There is a lounge downstairs if you'd rather?"

Trowa smiled and set his duffle under a chair, sitting down in an opposite spot and propping his legs over the duffle. "I'm good."

Quatre's bright smile lit up the room and the blonde left Trowa to join with the other dancers happily. Students were already filing into the room from the chaotic hallway and in the studio, without coats or cell phones, they each looked professional and passionate. Each one wore a look of seriousness, each had the perfectly poised walk of a dancer, each was sporting the requisite bun and body suit of a ballerina, and for a moment Trowa could see the same fire in them as he had when skating.

"Who's that! I don't want a guy in here, drooling over my ass as I try to practice," One of the dancers complained loud and clear. She had 'queen bitch' written all over her.

The same girl who had waved and spoken to Quatre at the car spoke up from her position bent over her leg raised up on top of the tallest bar and stretching, "He came with Quatre. I don't think you have anything to worry about, Cosette." She turned her attention back to her stretch.

The Queen Bitch, Cosette, looked affronted, "Well, this class is for serious dancers only. We can't have voyeurs like you distracting my training," she cocked off, now addressing him directly.

She sounded like a Skater, what with the attitude and all. Trowa knew how to deal with that, "Well, if I see you doing anything hard, I'll make sure not to make any sudden movements that may make you loose focus. This is a stretch class, I'd hate to make you pull a muscle in your pinky."

Cosette smirked bitterly, then returned viciously, "Well, I don't know where you got your information, but this is just nick-named stretch class. It's Ballet basics. That means it's extra practice for those of us who can already do this," And with that she jerked up to the balls of her feet and then twisted two pirouettes before she slid down into a graceful arabesque. To add to it she then turned the position to attitude so she had her back leg over her head in a loose circle. It was the same position Quatre had pulled on him when they had first met! Poor girl chose the wrong trick!

Trowa nodded patronizingly and slid his legs onto the floor and standing, "Impressive. What's it called again?" With a swing of his leg, Trowa dipped his upper body down low and brought his leg up. Since he didn't have any skate blades to grab onto, he caught his ankle and pulled his whole frame up, making a tear-drop shape when he dropped his head back. "Beilman?" Then Trowa dropped the leg and jumped onto his other foot, making the same tear-drop shape one handed with his left holding his right ankle, "or was that supposed to be a Cross-Beilman?"

He dropped the position and stood erect, "Yeah, You're right. I guess I don't deserve to be here."

Cosette's mouth dropped open, "what the HELL was that? Beilman? Who are you?"

Another dancer, a very petite girl who looked startlingly familiar to Trowa, spoke up, "He would be Trowa Barton. National Gold Medalist Pairs Skater, Trowa Barton. Who happens to be currently holding tryouts for a new practice partner since his sister was injured."

Trowa suddenly put a name to the face, July Cameron, a regional competitor in Woman's singles. She was one of the shortest competitors of her age, but as devoted as any. She was one of Petra's girls. And apparently she had been approached about filling the spot Cathy left. She was watching him closely, looking for hints, obviously, if the choice had been made already.

It was actually Quatre who spoke up net. He had lost the sweater and scarf and now stood in the tight black body suit, thin, wrinkling dance pants and a pair of once-white demi-pointe slippers on his feet. Reclining against the bar superiorly, head titled just to the left he looked very... Sexy. "I didn't think that asking him to stay here would be such a big deal. He'd have to wait for_ me_ somewhere."

That pretty much calmed the hurricane in the dance studio and the girls flitted back to their positions to do some warm ups. They were all lined up at the bar when a woman, not much older then the students, strode in and called "Fifth Position", walking down the row and checking each of the dancer's feet. Under her orders the chaos of the dancers came together into a beautiful dance of arms, legs, and bodies moving as one to the flourishing instrumental in the CD player.

After about 2 chapters of the book Trowa was supposed to read for English, the class broke from the bar and moved into the large floor area, pairing off amongst themselves. Quatre was approached by 4 different girls, all eager to talk to him, but he paired them with each other...It only took simple math to see that Quatre was trying to be the one left out...

The book was down and Trowa was kicking his street shoes off to move onto the floor, making Quatre grin like the Cheshire cat, "Need a partner?" Trowa offered with a smile.

Quatre spared a glance at the instructor (who smirked knowingly and acquiesced) and then bent down to touch his toes as instructed, "If you would?". Trowa followed suit, bending his fingertips to his feet no problem. Then she called for the class to bring the tips to the floor, and then palms. The exercise that he normally did daily was pulling the tight, strained muscles he'd been abusing for days. Then they came up straight and had to do arm-over-arm stretches, Arm circles, and all the other things elementary-school gym class was about. After a few minutes, they were told to do the splits and, trying to show off his flexibility and gymnastic ability (splits were integral to skating jumps) he slid down into front splits straight from standing, only feeling the tightness an inch or so from the ground.

Looking around though, he saw that each and every one of them had done it too. They were all moving into the 'nose to your knee' stretch one handedly. Trowa followed, slightly dejected that he wasn't as superior as he thought, and felt the pull and protest of his back and hamstrings. Soon they were doing straddle splits and crawling hand over hand until they could pull straight from the straddle into a regular straight position. Next came the dreaded "Killer Stretch" where they put their feet together and grabbed their arches, pulling the whole body flat against the legs, pointing and contracting their feet to pull the calves and the hamstrings. It friggan HURT! More than usual, Trowa noticed. The fact that he had been neglecting his stretching since Cathy's iron fist was gone was coming back to him loud and clear.

They broke up into pairs then, Quatre swinging to face Trowa with a smile, "not too much for you?" He teased. Trowa scoffed it off (and internally made himself a promise not to neglect his stretching any more!).

Quatre slid his legs into a triangle, pressing the bottoms of his feet together and placing his hands on them. He bent, trying to put his nose into his toes. "Can you push my back, just a little?" Quatre asked, trying for those last few centimeters.

Trowa slid up behind the blonde, being faced with the smooth ivory back, standing out even more soft and pale against the dark stretch of the body suit. The dance pants were slung low, so when Trowa hesitantly put a hand on the blonde's slim waist all that stood between his hands Quatre's own skin was the thin spandex...which was hardly a barrier; Trowa could feel Quatre's every breath, every twitch, and the warmth of his skin was sinking into his hands. Mouth suddenly dry, Trowa gently put pressure on his back. Quatre parted his feet just a bit so that he could touch the floor with his forehead, completely flat.

He slid back upright, the movement putting him flush against Trowa, who was kneeling right behind him, arms still pressed intimately against his back.

Trowa turned his head away first, clearing his throat quietly and sliding away from temptation.

Quatre slid into the front splits again, his back leg landing almost in Trowa's lap! The blonde lifted the back leg as much as he could, but it didn't get high off the ground, "Grab my ankle and bring it to my head" Quatre directed, using his arms and muscles to lean backward with his whole upper body to meet his foot. His head was practically upside-down, looking up at the figure of Trowa hovering over him and giving his leg the support needed to keep it arched. He was able to look almost under Trowa's fall of bangs, and he smiled giddily, "Two sexy green eyes, Hm?" He teased.

Trowa startled, letting go of Quatre leg in the process and sending it near-crashing onto the floor. Quatre couldn't keep the position anymore and settled back into basic front splits, giggling madly and trying, horribly, to apologize. After that, Quatre made Trowa do the same thing, spotting him for the stretch and bringing his leg to his head. After the Beilman, it was nothing, but the feel of Quatre so close to him, his knees brushing Trowa's side as the blonde moved and the boy's breathing so near his own was a whole new dimension to stretching. Trowa was thanking himself for not changing into the all-revealing dance pants and body suit of his own which he used in skating practice and had in his duffle. His pants were thick enough to hide what Quatre was doing to him. But the dance-belt Trowa was sure Quatre was wearing hid any response of Quatre's side, damn it.

A sudden CRACK of hand against hand brought their attention back to the teacher, who was directing the class back to the beams for raised stretched. With the smoldering eyes of Quatre on him, he followed like a sheep. Facing each other, Trowa propped his own leg up on the bar when his toes almost touched Quatre's own raised foot, and then he bent over it, fingers brushing Quatre's fingers as they both reached. Following directions, Trowa found himself learning to pliate (which the snickering from the TEACHER told him he was terrible at) and kicking his foot up as high as he could (at which he was actually better then most) and holding it there (in which he owned them ALL, including July). They moved through a few more bounding stretches now, leg, arm, and body movements that were much more difficult than the basics they had been doing earlier. Trowa was feeling his own protesting muscles stretch and loosen with stretch after stretch. And he was allowed to watch Quatre the whole time.

Under Trowa's gaze, Quatre was pushing himself like never before. He wanted to show Trowa what he could do, damn it. Quatre was breaking a sweat by the fourth kick-hold (since his kick was just as high as his head, and holding it was fucking murder!) but the little hint of surprise, appreciation, recognition of skill in Trowa's eyes was well worth the effort and tinges of pain. The little hums of appreciation from Trowa was bolstering his ego like he couldn't believe.

That's what he blamed it on. It was Trowa's appreciative noises, that gaze of recognition, and the gaze of want from the other girls when they looked at Trowa (sizing up what kind of a chance they had to steal him) that made him do it.

The teacher made another crack of hands and the girls moved to the centre to line up as always. Quatre had only participated in this part a few times (and even then, he never did it fully). But this time, under Trowa's gaze, he lined up with everyone else.

Cosette was first (she prided herself in it) and with a few bobs from flat foot to the balls of her feet to loosen up she moved. Five steps demi-pointe, A turn, a step, then a little leap. She landed on her left in fifth position, then did another leap into a mid-air split, landing with another demi-pointe step-step-turn. It was perfect, of course. The other girls followed suit, moving into the jumps perfectly. July missed a step at the beginning, and that buoyed Quatre's confidence even more.

It was his turn and he raised on demi-pointe. The pain stabbed through him, but he fought it into submission. Step, Step, Step, step legs was protesting loudly, but he would not give in in front of Trowa. He could do this! It was nothing more then a simple little leap. He's done it before since his injury. Quatre pushed off the floor into the little leap, moving to land in his left.

Quatre's whole leg screamed in protest as the lightning pain shot straight up his body and his leg folded under the strain.

From Next in line, Trowa saw everything. He was rushing out to catch him before the blonde even made the strangled grunt of pain. Grabbing him under the arms, Trowa held strong, keeping the blonde from even hitting the floor with his strength.

Quatre's face burned in embarrassment and the throbbing pain coming from his entire foot was pissing him off more then warning him. He was so sick of being injured! Quatre eyed the other end of the room. One more jump and a turn and he would have finished. Fuck.

Trowa's arms were strong around him, and Quatre grabbed them, hoisting himself onto his screaming legs with their aid. He was going to finish this if he fell after each fucking step! He pushed himself upward (Trowa's arms loosening, but not letting go) and Quatre forced his feet into fifth position and readied for the next leap.

"Don't be stupid!" Trowa hissed when he realized Quatre wasn't just getting up, he was going to continue! But Quatre never looked at him, just at the destination. The blonde tried to push Trowa's arms off and readied to leap again.

Trowa moved his grip to the blonde's waist, and held tighter.

Quatre understood.

With a push, Quatre leapt in the air, Trowa's arms pushing him up even higher then his own legs allowed him to fly. High above Trowa's head, Quatre was light and perfect in his arms. It was almost the same as having Cathy in his arms again, but Quatre was different. He had more subtle movements, was less feminine in construction, but still, he knew how to move with the lift naturally instead of fighting it. When gravity pushed him down again, Trowa moved with him, slowing the blonde so that his feet just brushed the floor on the landing and his arm moved from his waist to his hand instinctually, giving Quatre the freedom to make the last, perfect, demi-pointe turn on his own power.

The smattering of applause filled the room, bolstering in power as more hands joined in with support.

Trowa moved to support Quatre some more, while, as a pair, they turned to look at their audience.

The teacher spoke first, "That was a wonderful lift." She said, moving over to them to bend and take Quatre's foot in her hand. He hissed in pain, his whole body tensing as she touched it.

"You'd better go sit down, Quatre. You pushed it way to hard today. But, damn, was it stunning." She said, smoothing over bruised egos with her sincere smile.

Trowa wrapped his arm around Quatre's waist to support him and moved them to the chairs. From his duffle, Trowa pulled out his sweater and handed it over (since Q seemed to have lost his along the way, but needed it now) sitting down beside him to make the blonde prop his foot on his lap to let the protesting muscles relax and heal. Quatre was smiling, despite everything.

"We made a good pair." Quatre finally remarked. With a glint of a smile, Trowa nodded.


	8. Chapter 8

**Keep in Time**

_Dentelle_noir_

**Summary**: AU 3x4. A suspicious accident leaves Trowa without a skating partner, sentencing him to a year without competition. Quatre is an injured dancer, trying to find a way to live without his joy. Together, they make new rules and find a new path.

Re-posted old chapters with new beta work, new chapters to be added VERY SOON!

**Chapter 8 **

Trowa was so eager to tell Quatre the news, that he left practice like a rocket and instead of heading to the school, he headed towards Quatre's house. It was Monday morning, and school started in another 20 minutes. He was cutting it awfully close, but he was too excited to not at least TRY!

At a crosswalk a few blocks from his house, Trowa spotted a blonde head of hair on a body swimming in a dark blue hoodie with "BARTON" written stark across the back. From memory, Trowa knew the sweater had the figure skating logo on the sleeve at bicep height. It was very long on Quatre, but the blonde was able to pull off 'cute' in it instead of 'slothful'. Quatre was wearing it like a jacket in the crisp morning air, even though Trowa thought he should have been wearing something thicker-- it was moving into spring, but the slush froze crystal-sharp every morning.

He pulled up with the jeep and gave a honk. Quatre jumped half a mile and turned bug-eyes to the car, settling when he saw it was Trowa smiling instead of a tractor-trailer barreling down on him or something. Quatre tugged his ear-phones off and grinned, bouncing over to the passenger side and climbing in before the light turned green.

"Missed me?" Quatre joked, stuffing his messenger-bag onto the floor and dropping the slim CD player into a pocket. Trowa realized he really should give Quatre his MP3 player back.... but made no move to do so. He was enjoying listening to the songs too much, really.

"Yeah. And I have good news!" Trowa said, smiling affectionately at the blonde, "Dimitri was incredibly impressed with my skating all yesterday. He demanded to know what was so different, and I told him about stretch class with you."

Quatre's face lit up like Christmas, "Can you join? You can just do the Sunday class! For a lot of us it's a three times a week class, plus the Sunday separate. You could do just the Sunday class if that's all you can make. I know July and a few others do it that way."

Trowa grinned, "He said yes. AND since I really didn't have time to put something else in, we went over my whole practice schedule and he'll let me drop a practice right after school on Monday, and another on Wednesday to make up the time. I'll be able to hang for 2 hours after school on those days."

Quatre launched himself at Trowa, (uncaring about almost careening them into a pole, since Trowa was turning them into the school parking lot at the time) and wrapped him in an exuberant hug. Trowa put the car into park and hugged him back. "I thought you'd like that. So you get to see me on Monday, Wednesday, and Sunday too!"

Music started to blare from the school speakers, telling the students they had exactly seven minutes of the Beatles to get to class before the bell. Trowa turned off the ignition and climbed out, hefting his duffle to his shoulder and locking the doors. Almost as if choreographed, Trowa and Quatre both came together walking towards the school, moving with unconscious synchronization. Once inside the building, Quatre unzipped the sweater and blushed guiltily, "I still have your sweater, sorry. You can have it back, if you want it?" He offered (although he hadn't taken it OFF yet, Trowa noticed).

"You keep it; it looks really cute on you. I have more. Plus I still have your MP3 player." Trowa noted.

Quatre smiled brightly, "I don't mind as long as you're enjoying it! I want to see some choreography to some of my songs, you know!" Quatre teased, moving with Trowa towards class (Trowa's assigned locker was completely empty, since he pretty much carried it all with him in his duffle).

Trowa bumped his hip playfully, brushing against Quatre's hand in the process. Trowa wound their fingers together without thinking, "We'll have to see. Maybe for fun or something. I need a partner to compete, or even practice, really. My axels are useless without Cathy being able to do them. A pairs skater doesn't jump. The requirements in pairs are all about lifts, and I'm getting really rusty. I'm working on jumps just to keep up my motivation. Lifting you yesterday was the first one I've done since.... Cathy's accident."

Quatre blushed delicately, moving closer to Trowa to avoid hallway-collisions, "I'm sorry you had to do that. I can't believe I pushed myself that far. I hope my weight didn't hurt you-"

"Hurt me? Are you kidding, Quat!" Trowa cut him off with a deep laugh, "It's what I'm trained for! I do weights to be able to lift Cathy, and she's a lot more top-heavy then you. And believe me, you were an easy lift. You don't fight it or wiggle in the grip. You knew how to move your legs and arms without weakening my grip with twisting. You were actually quite good at being lifted. You know what you're doing."

Quatre grinned, "Yep. I was taught prima ballet, Trowa. And a big part is lifting too, although I'm supposed to be the lift-er, not lift-ee in Ballet. I was never really good at it, to be honest. That's why I took up pointe instead of sticking to demi-pointe and working on lifts like men usually do in the sport. I was trained in a modernized Cirassian style. It's like the Georgian style of men's ballet of balancing on the knuckles of the toes," Trowa hissed appreciatively at the idea, and Quatre nodded gravely.

"But thankfully the style was changed to the tips instead. It's not a very popular style, but it works for me. I was one of the few dancers in the world specializing in it...until the accident, of course. I dabbled in highland dance as well, which involves men's pointe without looking so girly, but I prefer the whole-body movement of ballet. Anyway, I know how lifts work intimately, and well, I'm teeny! I used to get picked up all the time! I was the smallest person in my whole family until my first nieces were born. Even my cousin used to lift me continuously for practice. I guess I got the feel for it, and I just love it! Almost as much as spinning!" Quatre finished with a silly grin.

They were outside Quatre's first class now, and still holding hands, neither wanting to leave. Another student flew into the classroom, filling up the second last empty seat. Quatre leaned up and gave Trowa a quick peck to the cheek, then scampered into his class with a bright blush and a grin.

The music stopped, and Trowa took off down the hall like a bat out of hell to try and beat the tardy bell.

Trowa was out on the rink before anyone else again. He was just a pro at getting his skates on and tied in less then a heartbeat while the rest of the class tried to figure out which side the guards came off from. Needless to say he was already through four or five quick warm up circuits before the next person wobbled onto the ice and the coach turned on the little radio for mood.

A few more students followed and then Quatre was on the ice and moving confidently towards Trowa. The fact that the blonde had slid on the sweater that proudly showed Trowa's claim on him brought a slow curling smile to Trowa's face. "You look great." He said, and Quatre did. After the re-introduction to the ice Trowa had given him all weekend, Quatre was moving elegantly and strong across the ice on his own, doing a few turns and twists and following Trowa's example of the backwards circuit- looking over his shoulder to make sure he didn't hit anyone.

Trowa moved in behind him quickly, reaching out to gently lay his hand on Quatre's waist and moved with him. They both synced to the music and started to move in time, Quatre leaning against Trowa's hand for the wide turns of the rink. Quatre's eyes were closed and his breathing soft as they moved around the ice, the air flying through his hair and the music flowing through him.

He missed dance, so much... But he tried. Oh lord, he tried. "Lift me" Quatre whispered, moving to grab Trowa's hand tight in his.

Trowa swept in, grabbing the other side of him and waiting for the perfect time. Quatre pushed off the ice, springing up into the air and locking his feet together, letting Trowa take him higher and higher.

Trowa lifted him as high as his arms could, then turned abruptly, kicking up speed until he was whirling Quatre around in a perfectly straight spin.

_~They sang to me this song of hope, and this is what they said  
They said come sail away, come sail away  
Come sail away with me~ _

Quatre raised his arms high and laughed in delight, striking his arms into a perfect circle hold. Trowa had made him combine flying AND spinning, and Quatre was riding high on the sensation. He arched his arms delicately, and released them from the circle to fall gracefully to Trowa's shoulders when he began to slow, making to transition back to the solid ice so easy that the two of them moved straight into a light drag, Quatre going one footed while Trowa pulled all his weight.

Quatre was grinning like a fool, eyes shining in pure joy. Trowa pulled Quatre in closer, close enough to have the blonde's heat melding with his. Eyes locked and hearts beating in time, the two of them gravitated even closer, wanted nothing more than to taste those lips.

"LINE UP!" the coach's voice boomed, followed by a shrill whistle, "Suicides, everyone!" He demanded with fervor undermined by his flaming red blush.

Trowa and Quatre separated to take their spot in line, grinning sideways at each other the whole time. "We make a good pair," Trowa whispered under his breath.


	9. Chapter 9

**Keep in Time**

_Dentelle_noir_

**Summary**: AU 3x4. A suspicious accident leaves Trowa without a skating partner, sentencing him to a year without competition. Quatre is an injured dancer, trying to find a way to live without his joy. Together, they make new rules and find a new path.

Re-posted old chapters with new beta work, new chapters to be added VERY SOON!

**Chapter 9 **

Trowa and Quatre left the rink at the same time after drills that class. The coach didn't dare 'freestyle' again after Trowa and Quatre's lift demonstration and subsequent almost-kiss in front of the whole class. They couldn't help but smirk. On the way to the main school building, though, Trowa spotted his sister waiting at the door-- her cast making her silhouette easily recognizable before he was close enough to make out her face.

Instead of waiting for her brother to come to her, she wobbled out of the doorway, sticking to the paved parking lot as she went. The closer she got, the clearer it became that she was scowling openly at him. "Hurry UP, Trowa," she complained as soon as they were within hearing distance. "We're going to be late."

"For lunch?" Trowa asked, confused.

Cathy's scowl could have melted iron. She flipped her hair out of her face in a dismissive sweep and kept on hobbling, but it was apparent that she was aiming for Trowa's parked jeep, bypassing the flatter route to get to her brother. "Petra called. You have training in..." She delicately flicked her arm to make a show of checking her posh, glittering watch, "Twenty minutes."

"But he's got classes." Quatre jumped in then, his hackles raised from the girl's apparent assumption of absolute control over her brother.

"Ice time is hard to get," Trowa said gently and brought his arm to rest against Quatre's elbow comfortingly. He gave him a reassuring smile while Cathy just grinned.

Trowa broke away from Quatre with a quick apology and scampered to open the passenger side door for his sister. Quatre shuffled back to the school building, alone and scowling.

But no matter how Quatre felt, it didn't matter, because it wouldn't change the fact that Trowa would run whenever Cathy called. Trowa hadn't even questioned why his coach never called HIM about the open time. Trowa would drop everything and anyone else because of one word from the red-head.

It took all of two seconds for Cathy to disconnect Quatre's MP3 from Trowa's car stereo and slide in her Bach CD-- Trowa remembered skating to at least the first 3 songs in one exhibition or another. She also adjusted the passenger seat with an un-lady-like curse so her cast-bound leg would fit. Then she managed to toss everything even remotely Quatre-related into the backseat (although why Trowa's pair of slip-on shoes were so offensive because Quatre had drawn on a little stick-figure skater, he wasn't sure).

Trowa reached over to rescue his shoes, his hand resting on his sisters for a moment, "Cathy, you know you're more important to-"

"Don't touch me." Cathy said, pulling her had out of her brother's grip as if burned and flicking her eyes around to make sure no one saw, "That's creepy. I'm starting to believe some of the stuff they say about you, Trowa. Just drive."

Trowa's heart dropped into his stomach. Without another word, he put the jeep into drive and pulled out of the lot.

After a few minutes of Bach-themed purges of his car which Trowa didn't DARE interrupt, they thankfully arrived at the rink and Trowa hightailed into the change rooms as soon as he was sure Cathy was fine to get to the stands. Booted-up and donning his dance pants and a sleek, black, long-sleeved bodysuit, Trowa emerged into the rink to find not only Cathy and Petra in the stands, but a dozen or so vaguely recognizable parents and coaches. Warning bells began to go off in his head, which quickly turned to alarms when he saw that the ice was FAR from "free". There was a collection of about a dozen girls decked out in perfect figure skating attire and warming up. And Dimitri, HIS coach, was out there with the girls getting them used to the feel of a lift. A lift?

It was fucking tryouts.

After two and a half hours, Trowa finally got a few minutes break. He had skated with every one of the girls, letting them choose the music and show off what they could in their style before he tried to work with them. He thought he had been finally done and then was informed that the next group would be there at three. Trowa had bolted to the lounge office upstairs and kicked the couch with an angry growl.

He uknew/u he needed a training partner if he wanted to stay competitive but having it sprung on him like this was nothing short of backstabbing betrayal. Dimitri said Cathy was supposed to have told him days ago, yet she didn't. And she didn't feel the least remorse for 'forgetting'. Why should HE need to know what was planned out for him, really? He was so angry he figured he should slide in one of Quatre's soft songs, but Cathy had made sure the blonde's MP3 was buried in Trowa's backseat.

Slowly but surely resentment was starting to show itself in regards to his only family member.

With no music, and his ice being swarmed by wannabe pair skaters who had to be taught a lift before they could try doing it with him, Trowa turned to his last option and dug out his cell phone with the intent to call up Quatre just for a minute. The message light blinked, and Trowa found a smile already tugging at his face. He relaxed into the couch so he could read the message Quatre had already sent him:

"School just got out. We're headed out for Pizza, so if you're done practice come join us. If not, Good Luck! Work Hard! ~Q"

It was a nice respite from the skating politics going on downstairs. There was nothing but catty hair-pulling and backstabbing down there. To skate with Trowa meant more ice time, and an almost automatic pass to recognition for the group of unknowns down there. It was crazy, and he was caught up right smack in the middle of it all.

Trowa just wanted to see Quatre, but knowing he couldn't leave practice, he texted back: "I wish. Have a slice for me. ~T"

He considered telling Quat what he really felt-- which was missing the blonde and just wanting to hang with him, having fun on the ice, instead of skating to these other girls' music. He considered sending him another message with "I miss you" but the choice was taken from him when Dimitri knocked at the door and signaled it was time to get back down there. The next group had arrived.

This time, the girls were recognizable students of Petra's. Each of these girls came with at least one Gold in their skating careers and he, at least, wouldn't get fallen on _again_.

"Fancy seeing you here," A smiling, familiar voice said from the bleachers. She was decked out in her practice body suit, white skates shining and hair pulled back into a perfect bun, and a little pink practice skirt covering her white tights. It was July, smiling brightly and leaning against the boards, waiting for her audition skate. She was one friendly face in a sea of all the politics at least.

Trowa took her around the rink first, leading the movements easily, chatting lightly and joking. She was so tiny that he could easily lift her without even straining. Her jumps were mediocre, and her step sequences needed work, but he couldn't help but have a little bit of fun. After all, she did choose some Pink Panther Jazz at least to skate to. After the morning of formalist, classical monotony, something more upbeat had his attention hands down.

Cathy was going to have Trowa drop her off at Jeff's, then he could go home and finally get some SLEEP, but when Trowa emerged from the back in his slip-on runners instead of the skates, he found Cathy chatting amicably with July.

He moved over to them and took a seat next to his sister.

She didn't move away from the touch of his shoulder to hers-- she must have been pleased with him. She seemed to like July; they were deep in conversation: "So the school's just closing? Mid semester?"

July, who was sitting facing Cathy with her legs crossed towards Trowa, smiling at him too, answered, "Well, it's a private school, most of the student's board. It's just relocating to another city and bringing most of the students with it. It's only us athletes that need to stay close to our coaches and divisions who are getting shafted. The fine art athletes, us skaters and the dancers especially, are all staying-- they know Kiana's the best dance studio this side of California, and the skating in this city, between Petra's and Lowe's rinks, cranks out champions. We're gonna be invading the local high schools like locusts soon," She joked, smiling gently.

Trowa and Cathy, though, weren't smiling. "The Lowe Skaters are coming to our school?" Trowa deadpanned.

July nodded, looking between the two of them in confusion.

The Lowe rink boasted a singles program that rivaled Petra's (they, of course, wouldn't admit that it had turned out 2 more pro singles skaters then the 9 Petra's had produced), and their one pairs skating team was the only people who could rival Cathy and Trowa. The two were always right on their back ready with the knife. Whenever a silver was on Trowa and Cathy's neck, a gold was around Team Lowe's. Trowa was constantly sweating bullets to try and get one step ahead of that guy-- who always seemed ready to pull some new stunt off . When Trowa and Cathy got gold, Team Lowe was right there-- silver toting and vowing to bring it harder next time and forcing Trowa and Cathy to push harder, faster, sharper. The only team who really benefited from Cathy's accident was Team Lowe-- they were the next in line, and unstoppable to any other competitor even trying to make division.

But like a god damned cosmic joke, even when Trowa and Cathy were at their lowest, Team Lowe would be there to yuk it up and take the gold unrivaled. The bastard would be taking classes with him, eating in the same cafeteria as him, smirking that superior 'I landed the double FIRST' look he usually wore. Heero Fucking Yuy and Relena The-queen-bitchess Peacecraft were going to be attending their school.

Cathy offered Trowa's services as chauffer to July while he was stewing, and he was forced to drive her to stretch class while Cathy begged out cheerfully when Jeff showed his stupid ass up. Trowa was just plain sullen after learning Heero friggan Yuy was going to be showing him up in CLASS too that he was being dreadful company. He told July to turn on the radio.

Cathy's classical CD began to play, and July hummed along, smiling gently. Trowa felt his respect for her drop just a touch, but before judging he decided to say "You CAN change the CD if you want. There's an MP3 hook-up..."

July smiled happily and out from her bag she pulled a little player shaped cutely like a frog. Trowa rigged it up for her when they were at a stop light, and by the time he was back to doing 60, she had cued up.... Bach. Trowa wanted nothing more than to crash them into a pole. What happened to the Pink panther jazz? July smiled so happily, though, that Trowa didn't dare say anything.

He got her to the studio on time and had every intention of leaving... and then he remembered Quatre was going to be up there. He wanted to see him, even if it was only for a moment. And July was saying "come on up and see everyone! I'm sure the instructor will let you stay again if you want! You're part of the Sunday class, right?"

Trowa found himself chancing the rickety stairs of doom and emerging in the sardine-packed hallway. July, being a good foot shorter than anyone there, and almost two feet shorter then Trowa himself was getting damn near crushed, so Trowa found himself holding her waist and shouldering his way through the throng to make sure she made it in one piece.

He walked into the classroom with July still firmly protected by his body mass, and every eye was on him. Them. Suddenly Trowa realized this was NOT a good situation to be in. He immediately put an arms length between them. "I drove you here as promised. See you." And he began to get the hell out of there before the fur began to fly. He needed to text Quatre NOW before he got to class and the gossip mill started.

But July put her hand to Trowa's arm, tugging him back, "Can't you help me with the Twist lift while we're on solid ground? I've got another ten minutes before class, and you're here anyway."

Her logic was flawless. And to be honest, he got the impression that Cathy had July earmarked as his new practice partner-- he didn't want to be tossing her and trying to catch her for the first time while racing on the ice. "One single twist." He agreed reluctantly.

Trowa pushed his sleeves up to his elbows and faced July, "Okay. We'll do a plain overhead lift form; Just straight up. No turns this time. But I'm going to throw you and then catch you. No turns. No movement. Up and down. Got it?"

July agreed, her face gone totally serious now. He could deal with serious. He clapped his hands for her to go, and July took one good step towards him for momentum. Trowa plucked her waist and hoisted her vertically. At the height of his shoulders he gave her body a little push and let her go. She was in free fall for a split second until gravity dropped her back into Trowa's grip, where he put her back on terra firma. Simple and clean. But she didn't know to give herself a boost by grabbing his shoulders for push and stability.

"Again. And a little higher this time," She said, determination in her eyes. Trowa clapped and she took another kicking step, being picked up and thrown a little harder. Trowa caught her just as easily and set her back down with a little more fluidity. They were getting better each time. They took up spots and Trowa clapped again- This time Trowa threw her straight over his head.

But she moved. She tilted in mid air, forcing Trowa to change his angle to catch her. He wrapped his hands tight around her waist and dropped her to the floor safely, but with a frown. "That wasn't supposed to happen, was it?"

Trowa had to chuckle, "You're used to being in motion while skating. Straight up is hard, I know."

"You'll get better with practice, I'm sure." Quatre's voice said with an edge.

Trowa spun to look at him, the blonde moving into the room with predatory grace and sliding his sweater -- Trowa's sweater-- off to reveal his black body suit and clinging dance pants. He was still fucking gorgeous, and he was obviously pissed.

Trowa moved over to him, reaching out and touching his shoulder. Quatre stiffened but, mercifully, didn't pull away. "Practice was hell today" he said, "Cathy set up try-outs under my nose for a new practice partner." He saw Quatre's anger dim just a bit, for a moment anyway.

"Those were pathetic twists." Quatre said, shooting sideways glares at July all the while.

Trowa felt his pride on the line, "I didn't want to drop her. What else can I do with a straight up and down toss? It wasn't even a twist lift, because I didn't want her turning. We're not on the ice."

"Then she should be doing some dance lifts." Quatre said, flicking his hip gently (cockily).

Trowa's brow rose, challenging back, "You think you can do better?"

Quatre moved away from the practice beam and made July move from her spot. He gave his legs a little stretch while Trowa rolled his sleeves up again. "Same as July. no twists, no jumps, and straight up and down," he said with a smirk. Could Quatre really show her up with the same rules?

Quatre waited for the clap, and then took a step, rooting his hands to Trowa's shoulders at the same time that Trowa closed his hands around his waist. Quatre pushed off Trowa in sync with the little toss and the slim blonde went straight up. Trowa caught him a moment later-- the blonde's hands moving to Trowa's shoulders to guide the decent. Once Trowa's grasp was firm against Quatre's lower waist, the blonde leant back, leaving one hand in contact with Trowa's shoulder as he arched fluidly and brought one foot up to brush his dangling hair.

Trowa could imagine simply dragging Quatre like that: one handed sliding across the ice while the crowed's oohs and ahhs the sheer grace. Trowa moved his hand up Quatre's spine, guiding him to roll back upright. Quatre responded so perfectly, so elegantly that Trowa decided to do a standard overhead lift, moving him off the ground by his hips to stay free in the air-- held down by nothing but Trowa's two hands.

The blonde closed his eyes and let his head fall back, arching his spine and letting his arms fall behind him until he was laid back, his arms and spine parallel to the floor. If Trowa was able to spin, it would have been a point-worthy layback lift. Trowa brought him back down to the floor reluctantly, eyes locking with Quatre's and showing how awed he was of the petite blonde.

Quatre smiled and moved in to drop a peck to Trowa's mouth. He let the taller skater go, and moved towards the bar to continue practice. The instructor was there, waiting to start class. July hurried to take up her spot at the bar, and in that moment where she turned a jealous scowl in Quatre's direction, he smirked and blew her a kiss. No one fucked with a Winner. Or the man a Winner's eye was on.


	10. Chapter 10

**Keep in Time**

_Dentelle_noir_

**Summary**: AU 3x4. A suspicious accident leaves Trowa without a skating partner, sentencing him to a year without competition. Quatre is an injured dancer, trying to find a way to live without his joy. Together, they make new rules and find a new path.

Re-posted old chapters with new beta work, new chapters to be added VERY SOON!

**Chapter 10 **

Quatre eyed the mess in Trowa's jeep with disdain. His things were STREWN everywhere! Trowa had stayed for stretch class, and volunteered to drive Quatre home. Quatre had made sure they were out the door before July could ask too. He climbed in the passenger seat to find his legs dwarfed by the extra space and his MP3 nowhere in sight. It was a direct threat against Quatre's right to be in Trowa's Jeep!

"Hurricane Cathy" was Trowa's remark. He wasn't going to help, though, oh no, because Quatre had shimmied between the back and front seat via the armrest and as he searched, Trowa had a perfect view of his ass to ogle while Quatre couldn't catch him. He had one hell of a nice ass... Trowa just reclined against the wheel and watched, grinning.

Quatre, folded over the armrest and dangling into the mass of stuff --did Trowa even NEED a pair of scissors in the car? Why in the world would he have scissors?-- and he finally found the tiny, thumb sized purple MP3 player. "GOT IT!"

Trowa grabbed the blonde's hips gently and pulled him back to the front, feeling how tight that body-suit clung to the blonde's slightly damp skin, and let him settle straddled across the armrest, neck slightly angled to avoid hitting the roof. The blonde was drop dead sexy. Long lines curving straight from the knee; bringing the eye up to the swells at his hips and the dips at his stomach to the long delicate arch from clavicle to ear; all in skin tight black that radiated Quatre's heat, and looking at Trowa with heavy lidded eyes. As if he knew exactly what was going through Trowa's brain, and encouraging it.

Trowa maneuvered those hips closer to him, moving him so that he was cradled in Trowa's lap, half pinned between the wheel, the consul, and Trowa's lips when he moved to capture that smirking mouth. Quatre groaned into the kiss, encouraging him to go further, delve deeper, take more, and Trowa did. He ravaged the blonde's mouth, using tongue and lips and teeth and hands to show him how much he wanted Quatre. And it seemed to be exactly what the blonde needed. He was responding with moans, groans, and grinding against Trowa's body wantonly as he teased the invading tongue and touch.

Emboldened, Trowa let his hand drop from the safety of Quatre's hip, moving it lower, more central...and Quatre broke the kiss. "Trowa?"

Trowa slid his hand back to the hip, a blush of embarrassment coloring his face. "Sorry, I didn't mean to go to fast-"

"Trowa." Quatre said again, making Trowa look up at him. He was panting, eyes shining with lust, hands splayed on Trowa's chest, "I shouldn't be mad that you showed up with July, because you're not even my boyfriend."

Trowa's brows shot to his hairline. Not his boyfriend? "Why not!?"

A teasing smile adorned Quatre's face, a twinkle in his eyes saying that Trowa had given the answer he wanted. "Because you haven't asked me yet."

He was right, of course. Quatre was always more socially adept then Trowa, understanding the importance of labels. Trowa already considered their relationship as steady, but neither had said the words, "Will you be my boyfriend? Date only me?" He asked, massaging the edges of the blonde's hips.

Quatre grinned, leaning back down to press his lips back to Trowa's, "Yes." He said, smiling, touching Trowa's hand and nudging it back down to its bold position, "And you can skate with whoever you want, as long as you promise not to cheat on me." There was something in Quatre's eyes when he said that; an understanding, a worry, a rawness of hurt.

"I promise." Trowa declared, locking eyes with the blonde, "You're my boyfriend now. And I'll treat you like a prince."

Dropping his forehead to lean against Trowa's, Quatre smiled warmly. "Then I command you to kiss me."

Happily, Trowa complied, delving into the willing mouth passionately, hungrily, wrapping one arm around the blonde and pulling him tight against him while his other hand roamed that thigh he'd been allowed access to. And Quatre moaned in desire, shifting position, crunching about in the limited space of the jeep, rolling his hips back so that he could drop his hand from Trowa's chest low, lower, until Quatre's fingers began to toy with the button of Trowa's jeans hesitantly.

The heavy sound of tires bumping over a pot-hole made both of them jump sky-high and remember they were in a well-lit parking lot within full view of a major roadway.

Quatre scrambled blushingly back into the passenger seat and used the seat belt to check his own libido. Trowa followed his example, cranking the window down to cool his racing blood. Quatre took pity on him (or just wanted the fun) and flipped the switch to make the Jeep retract its top.

Trowa threw his duffle onto the floor to protect all the crap down there from getting blown out (and revealing the mystery of how so much crap built up on the jeep's floor) and keyed the ignition, moving them out of the parking lot. Quatre cued the music, finding something hard and driving, and he personally shot Cathy's CD into the backseat in a little dose of revenge. After Trowa turned in the complete opposite direction of either of their houses, Quatre decided to break the quiet. "Try-outs, huh?"

"Unfortunately. It was hell. I had to skate with at least a dozen girls who hardly knew the outside edge of their blades from the inside, all playing the same damn classical music over and over."

Quatre let out a derisive snort, using a hand to push the whipping strands of blonde away from his eyes, "July played the Pink Panther, didn't she? That's how the little backstabber got your vote?"

Trowa let his eyes snap to Quatre in question. The blonde was laughing wryly, "Trowa, her and I were talking last night on the computer. She kept asking what sort of things you'd skate to. I didn't even think. Of all the girls in the class, July at least has a head on her shoulders. I wouldn't hold a grudge. She'll be coming to our school soon, remember…" he tried to change the subject, but Trowa wasn't having any of that.

"You told her to play that?" Trowa asked, jaw dropping. Competitive skating made desperate, grasping little backstabbers of everyone it seemed. Trowa knew he would be tempted to do something unethical should Heero Yuy be the target. And they all knew who was responsible for Cathy's skate; only another skater would have known how to slit the seams of a specialty made boot. And the only ones who stood to gain were team Lowe. Rumor had it that Relena couldn't land her double that year while Cathy could. It would have meant the silver if Trowa and Cathy skated a clean program.

Quatre shrugged, "I told her some stuff that would work well enough with her more classic style but still a little upbeat, like you enjoy. She got me good, I even sent her the file. I have to respect that level of controlled underhandedness, though. She's got style and brains." Quatre ended with a snicker.

Trowa couldn't help but smile, "Well, no one can compare to the original," he said, moving a hand off the wheel to brush against Quatre's thigh. Quatre felt his face flame in embarrassment, but his lips turned up into a pleased smile. Trowa reached to pull out his sweater, the one he had given to Quatre, and handed it to him. The air was cold, and the blonde took it gratefully, snuggling deep into the thick cotton made to endure rink temperatures.

"Wanna come to my cousin's Birthday? It's this Wednesday after school. Odd time, I know, but it's a skating party. I thought you might want to come?"

Trowa blinked, "Sure I'll come with you. But, a skating party? How old's this cousin?" As far as Trowa knew, no one with a shred of dignity had a themed birthday party who was over the age of twelve.

Merry tinkling laughter bubbled from Quatre, and he grinned. "He's our age! But the skating party is a tradition or something. I don't know. We just always do it for his birthday. You don't have to-"

"I'll be there. I can do Wednesdays. Just give me the details by Tuesday," Trowa cut him off, smiling gently. Any excuse to be with Quatre was enough of an excuse for him.

They ended up driving all over the city, just chatting and rocking out to music and enjoying the other's company. He promised to pick Quatre up the next morning, and drove the rest of the way home, eager for gym the next day to find out if Quatre could do lifts on ice as gracefully as he had in the class. It was almost midnight by the time Trowa pulled into his driveway. The porch light was still on, and there was an all too familiar Sedan parked at the curb. Jeffy-boy was over. Trowa just hoped they took it to Cathy's room this time (and began to wonder if he could get away with bringing Quatre home...).

He hit the mattress at ten after twelve and set his alarm for five AM. He had practice, of course, and he never DID get that sleep he was looking forward to. He was dead to the world before his head hit the pillow and sweet dreams of a blonde in black blew his mind.

After the coach made the class partner up in NUMBERED partners to avoid the little scene from last time (Stymieing Trowa's ideas to work on those lifts while on skates with the blonde). Trowa had to watch as Quatre did slaloms between cones down the ice like it was butter. Quatre's skating must have been really rusty, because this last week it had come to a shining polish with just some regular practice. Trowa couldn't wait for the end of class because he was able to skate right over to the blonde and grab his hand just to be touching. Quatre was encouraging him, though, and Trowa found that he enjoyed the causal touches and looks and smiles. Now they could have lunch together, even if it was nothing but mutual protein shakes.

Trowa sat down at the usual cafeteria table, putting his duffle on the floor beside his feet, and broke out his shake, followed momentarily by Quatre who sat so close their hips touched. Trowa let his hand fall beneath the table to set on the blonde's jean-covered thigh comfortably, simply enjoying being close to him. Soon they were joined by the artsy group Quatre called friends, all chattering about the winter thaw coming, the disgusting cafeteria food, and the general woes of teenage life.

Like some sort of masochist, Jason chose to sit directly beside Trowa, sitting down causally and tipping his purple-striped head back to gulp a diet pop. After a few minutes, he looked up and smiled at Trowa....friendly? No. Trowa didn't think so.

"Are you coming with us to the movies today?" Jason asked, one delicate brow raised in question (did that guy pluck them or something to look that pretentious?).

Trowa sighed, "I can't. I have-"

"Practice, right?" Jason cut in, a vicious smile on his face. "Of course. If I didn't see you at lunch, I might just believe Quatre's dating some phantom. You're never around. Nice to see that you care about Quatre's life."

Trowa glared, "Just because I don't ditch practice, practice for the sport I LOVE, just to hang out at the mall with you guys doesn't mean that I don't make time for Quatre. Thank you for the _concern_, Jason." Trowa really was not trying to start something with the guy; the guy's jealously-complex was not even worth his effort.

Jason rolled his eyes, "You are just _too_ cool, aren't cha Trowa? Hard core." The sarcasm was dripping so thick it was almost comical.

"Leave him alone, Jason. Not everyone has to be as underground as you and listen to emo and indie." Quatre said, almost bored. He sipped at his protein drink again, choco-banana it read, but it didn't really taste like either.

Jason, sitting beside Trowa, shrugged and looked away. A moment later, he elbowed a bag to the floor and bent to retrieve it...and found his prize right in the edge pocket of Trowa's bag. His MP3 player. Jason grabbed it and stood abruptly, moving out of harm's way before he turned it on in front of everyone.

"Let's see what the hard core Skater listens too, hm?" Jason said, stepping up onto the seats of the cafeteria benches surrounded by eager followers. "Looks like we've got some classic rock, very respectable, no rap thank god, oh yes, Rob Zombie _HOW_ hard-core, Trowa." Jason was smirking madly, locking vicious eyes with Trowa's very unamused ones.

Trowa stood angrily, moving over to Jason's side of the table, "Get off the table, Jason and give that back."

Because in Jason's hand was NOT Trowa's MP3 player. Jason was scrolling through a slim purple device which, if the idiot would have looked closely at, he might see was titled "Quatre's player" and had a little Q penned onto the opaque cover. Trowa was already alienated from that group the minute he said he was an athlete; he wouldn't let it happen to Quatre for his musical tastes.

"Worried I'm going to find something, Trowa? What? Got some polka-dot-door on here, Mr. Big-Tough-Skater?" Jason wibbled sarcastically, and took a step up to the table to get away from Trowa. "Let's see what else we got here!

Trowa pushed past the wall of friends and swiped at the guy, trying to get him down. His antics had now caught the attention of most of the friggan cafeteria! This was ridiculous!

"JACKPOT!" Jason crowed, looking at the playlists, "What's this? Britney spears! Oh yes, toxic all right! And, oh my god, Barton, you have "Bitch" on here! Any more female power anthems you friggan tranny?"

The cafeteria erupted into laughter and Trowa saw red, "you're going down!" Trowa growled, stepping up to the purple-striped boy with killer intent.

Jason saw school security were watching with hawk eyes, so he got bold and continued to scroll through the MP3. "Oh course there's more power anthems! Pink, Sarah McLachlan! Of course. OH OH OH!" Jason crowed, "HILARY DUFF!"

Trowa stopped, and glared at that one, "I happen to like Hilary Duff." He defended.

"You like it all, apparently!" Jason hollered, making the cafeteria burst out into uproarious laughter.

"You're an idiot, apparently," rang through the cafeteria. Quatre stood from his spot and clambered up to the table, grabbing the MP3 from Jason with one angry swat. He flipped it over and pointed to the Q penned on the cover. "Q for Quatre, you dumb fuck! This is MY player. And yeah, I like Sarah McLachlan. And you can fuck off, you emo loser. Why the hell do I hang OUT with you?!" He yelled, turning around and grabbing Trowa's arm to haul him back to the floor with an iron grip.

Following Quatre, Trowa turned and gave a lunge, making Jason jump a foot in the air with a squeal. "Who's the girl now, Jasey?" Trowa cooed, smirking in victory. Trowa moved to regain his seat....and saw Cathy and Jeff, standing from their table. Cathy threw out what was left of her lunch and shot one look at her brother. Scathing. Disgusted. Annoyed. And suddenly Trowa didn't feel so victorious anymore.

Quatre waited for a few moments for the hullabaloo to die down before he leant into Trowa, pressing their bodies close, "Why do you look so upset? It's over with." Quatre whispered.

Trowa snaked an arm around Quatre and hugged him tight, not caring at the multiple stares of dislike shot his way. Quatre's friends did not like him. One by one they began to side with their fallen comrade, a larger group moving in to help lick Jason's wounds each time he attacked Trowa. But Quatre didn't seem to care, he melted into the hug, wrapping his arms around Trowa and dropping his chin to rest against his shoulder.

"Cathy's mad at me." Trowa whispered, his voice showing the desperation he was feeling. Cathy was his only family! She was the only one at home, the only one who'd been there! She was his partner, for God's sakes! "She's mad at me."

Quatre sighed, understanding from Trowa's body language just how much a blow that was to him. Trowa seemed to live and breathe according to Cathy! Cathy Cathy Cathy! "It's not the end of the world, Trowa. I know she's important to you, but you have to learn to do things your own way. You can't live in her shadow, Trowa, it's strangling you."

Trowa pulled away from Quatre, confusion and a touch of fear flitting across his eyes, "She's the only reason I do well! She's my partner! She's my family-- my everything! I can't even skate without her!"

Quatre scoffed, moving away from Trowa as well, "You've been doing fine on your own as far as I can see, Trowa. You did singles before. You don't need _her_."

Trowa jumped back as if struck.

How DARE Quatre say something like that! That was just-- wrong! He was a double's skater! He was Cathy's partner! That was it! One part of a team of two and just biding his time until Cathy came back. Cathy had to come back. "Cathy's coming back!" he snarled, staring Quatre down angrily. But he wasn't sure if he was trying to convince Quatre, or himself.

The blonde blinked in surprise, "No she's not." Quatre said casually, his face turning sad. "You gotta face the facts, Trowa. She hasn't even tried to keep up her training. Her cast should be coming off soon, but she'd rather party with the popular kids then be on the ice. You've gotta find your own way," Alone, was unspoken, but rang in the air between Quatre and Trowa.

Trowa's hold on the world began to slip.

"Fuck you." Trowa said, quiet and hurt. And at that he stomped out of the cafeteria, pushing people out of his way as he went. He heard Quatre call after him, but he didn't even look back. Couldn't look back. Would NOT look back.

He walked straight out of the school and climbed into his jeep, slamming it into gear and pulling out of the drive with careless speed, wiping his arm against his face to clear his watery vision. Quatre was nothing but drama! Cathy was right, he was nothing but a distraction. He needed to skate! His rink at home was melting, but it would do until practice. It had to do.

He needed to clear his head before Quatre's words could sink in.


	11. Chapter 11

**Keep in Time**

_Dentelle_noir_

**Summary**: AU 3x4. A suspicious accident leaves Trowa without a skating partner, sentencing him to a year without competition. Quatre is an injured dancer, trying to find a way to live without his joy. Together, they make new rules and find a new path.

Re-posted old chapters with new beta work, new chapters to be added VERY SOON!

**Chapter 11 **

July huffed in exertion, her hair falling unattractively out of the strict bun and sticking straight out, stiffened from sweat. Trowa clapped and she step, step, jumped and Trowa grabbed her palms, pressing her high above his head with his arms.

She was supposed to bring her legs up into a simple pinwheel stance while above his head-- holding her own weight balanced on their two pressed hands. Instead, Trowa felt her arms give an unsteady shake, and it was enough to buckle his hold.

With a shriek, she came tumbling down-- caught expertly by the waiting Dimitri. That fall had happened more times than a proper dismount, for goodness sakes! The bad day Trowa had already gone through sure wasn't helping and tempers were steadily rising.

"This is getting ridiculous!" Cathy snipped from her spot on the couch. She was facing the practice room's dance floor and tying to coach July from the sidelines. It wasn't working. The press lift wasn't simple, but it shouldn't have been failing so badly that they couldn't even get off the ground after an hour!

"Can you stop friggan dropping me, Trowa!" July snapped, flattening her frazzled hair back into its bun and retrieving a water bottle from the table next to Cathy's couch.

"Everybody settle down," Dimitri said, his own voice edged with anger and weariness (he's been catching the girl for the last hour after all).

With a snap right back, Trowa growled, "Can you stop buckling!" He was just as tense and frustrated as everyone else. And after Cathy's near-refusal to even look at him, and his phone ringing near constantly as Quatre tried to get a hold of him, probably to yell at him some more, and he just wanted to get this over with so everything could be like it used to be! But it wasn't happening. July was not Cathy; He hoped to god his sister came back to skating soon so he didn't have to deal with all this...stuff.

Cathy stood up, leaving her crutch behind to hobble over to her brother. She threw her hands onto his and locked eyes, sending a thrill through Trowa's body.

He knew this. They didn't need a clap. Trowa knew Cathy. She pushed off and he lifted--

And then it all went to hell.

Cathy was up above his head, her two legs pointed out (since she couldn't very well pose with a cast covering most of her leg) when Trowa's arm spazamed and buckled. Cathy tumbled like a rock, bringing Trowa down with her. Dimitri was there to stop her from breaking her neck...but the damage had been done.

The whole room was stunned. Team Barton couldn't even do a standing press lift together.

Cathy's face flamed red as she scrambled to pick herself up, "What the HELL, Trowa! Been shirking weights or something because of blue-eyes? You DROPPED ME!" She screamed in outrage.

Humiliation set into Trowa's belly and he didn't even have the heart to get up off the floor, sweating and panting from the strain. Anger began to build, but at himself! He hadn't been working out like he used to. He HAD been spending more time thinking about Quatre then about Cathy. It was all coming out; he couldn't even lift his partner! His sister! Cathy hurled insult after insult, Trowa dropping his head in submission as he rubbed at his over-abused arm. What kind of skater couldn't even lift his partner?

July's coach threw her charge a sweater and directed her towards the glass door. It was obvious they would make no more headway today...

And that was when he spotted sad blue eyes looking in. Quatre was watching from the other side of the door. Quatre saw him fail. Quatre was seeing Cathy go up one side of him and down the other while he sat there like a doll and took it.

Suddenly it wasn't guilt turning his face flushed...it was anger. He picked himself up off the floor in one steady motion, fluidly bringing himself to his feet while Cathy continued her barrage.

July's coach opened the door, ushering her student out (and he knew Quatre could hear every word once the soundproof was broken) and Trowa snapped.

"You haven't done a lift since your accident! You've got ten extra pounds on one side, at least! And you're telling me it's my fault alone!?" Trowa didn't know where it was all coming from, but the idea of Quatre seeing Cathy wring him out was just too much to bear. "Maybe I haven't been lifting as much, but at least I'm still TRAINING! I landed a fucking triple axel! You can't expect to sit on your ass all day and party all night then just jump right in and expect it to be like before!" Trowa bellowed. Because it WASN'T like before!

Like a punch to the gut, Trowa realized it never WOULD be the same. He thought of Cathy's look. Cathy ignoring him. Cathy's forcing her music down his throat, Cathy pulling away from him on the couch... he knew it would never be the same ever again. Cathy's drive was gone. "You're not going to compete again." Flew out of Trowa's lips in a horrified whisper. Quatre was right. Quatre had always been right...Trowa just didn't want to see it. Denial was nicer then the truth sometimes.

Cathy's eyes widened and her hand came back...

The resounding SLAP echoed through the studio, the sheer shock sending Trowa off-kilter while his hand came up to rub at his cheek. "Fuck YOU Trowa Barton!" Cathy screamed, the sparkles of tears showing. Trowa reached out to... he didn't even know, but touch had always soothed them. But Cathy wouldn't let him. She flew out of the room, practically tumbling out the door and nearly swinging it into Quatre's stunned face.

Two heavy hands came down on Trowa's shoulders, goading him to relax under the kneading touch. Trowa hadn't realized he was as coiled as a spring until then, or that he felt like the whole world was off-kilter underneath his feet. When had it all gone so...so wrong?

"Take a break. Relax. Cool down." Dimitri said to Trowa, stopping his massage and taking a step towards the door. He gave Quatre an encouraging smile, holding the door open for the blonde. He excused himself to bring Cathy her crutches, and left Trowa and Quatre alone.

"I'm sorry," Trowa said first, sighing wearily and pulled his sleeved arm across his face to scrub off the sweat and the surprising wetness running down his cheeks. He could feel the sting from Cathy's hand still-- it reminded him that NOTHING was okay anymore!

Quatre took that moment to step into the work-out studio, quickly going to Trowa and wordlessly wrapping his arms around the skater. His own arms responded by curling around the blonde, holding onto his when all his other life-lines seemed to be snapping. He his whole body was trembling from the emotion, and Trowa just had to, just had to move-- he started to rock, taking Q with him.

The blonde swayed in time, dropping his head to pillow on Trowa's shoulder...then moving a hand to take Trowa's hand. "We're dancing now" Quatre hummed with a smiling voice.

Trowa had to chuckle at that, "Seems I just can't stay still," he replied, turning them, leading the dance.

"You never did take me dancing yet," Quatre said as he shifted his feet and flicked his hips in sync.

"_When my mind is free, No melody can move me..._" Trowa sang, beginning to move them to the beat in his head. Quatre grinned, picking up the tune and humming along.

Trowa twirled him out, then the dancer spun back into Trowa's arms effortlessly, continuing the steps, "I _wanna get lost in your rock n' roll and drift away,_" Quatre's voice lifted over the room, over all the bullshit.

And Trowa held him by the swell of his hips and lifted him up, thrilling when Quatre moved with him and arched his back to dip gracefully back, back, arching until his outstretched fingers nearly brushed the hardwood floor. Trowa let his hand trace his spine, and Quatre followed with the movement, rolling upwards with Trowa's guidance until he was standing straight again, and flush against Trowa's cut body, moving and sliding against each other to the music they were humming to each other.

With a mischievous smirk hidden by his eyes half lidded in pleasure, Quatre put his hands into Trowa's--palm to palm-- and Trowa lifted, bracing the blond up high, straight up above Trowa's head, suspended there by the combined strength of the two of them working together to reach for the sky. And Quatre smiled, looking down at him delighted, "I guess I'll forgive you...but don't ever tell me to fuck off again, Trowa Barton! Or I'm SO breaking up with you!" Trowa started to spin just gently, turning that smile into a laugh of delight as Quatre was forced to wrap his arms around Trowa and just enjoy it.

From the hallway, Dimitri's eyebrows rose. The blonde was...a great dancer. He had the grace and experience, and for some reason he knew how to be lifted...And when Trowa and the blonde were together...it was magic.

Quatre moved back down to the floor, doing a little turn on his tip toes-- before the pain shot up his legs like lightning.

Trowa pulled him in tight, taking most of his weight without picking him up. The pain was obvious in his muscles--the tension was palatable-- but Trowa knew, knew without even having to see the determination in Quatre's face, that Quatre wouldn't stop the dance. He needed to dance. Fish needed to swim. Birds needed to fly. Quatre needed to dance, just like Trowa needed to skate, even without a partner, or without hope of competing, he NEEDED the ice.

Trowa continued to rock with the rhythm, and Quatre dropped his head again to rest on Trowa's shoulder, in thanks, or pleasure, and together they finished the song, the last note silenced when their lips met.

Quatre pulled away first, a soft smile of pleasure staying on his lips, "I missed you. I kept trying to call. I was going to yell at you some more...but then… I saw you in here...and you looked so upset..."

Trowa sighed, "I'm an asshole, Quatre..I'm very sorry, I never should have said that to you. I was just so shocked...so upset...but I can see why you said that, now. Cathy...Cathy's changed."

"So have you, Trowa." Quatre said gently, running his fingers along Trowa's rock solid arms, "You're doing this because YOU want to, not because others expect it. I mean, really, a Pairs skater barely needs to do more then a single jump, but you Trowa? You just can't keep off the ice. Just like I can't stop dancing, even though my friggan leg is killing me."

Shit! Trowa picked Quatre up off the floor in one swoop and carried him to the couch, elevating his leg and taking a look..."It's swelling, Quatre." Trowa declared with a grimace.

"Ah fuck" Quatre muttered, a tone of annoyance...but nothing more.

"You HAVE to stop re-injuring yourself, stupid. You'll permanently damage yourself if you keep this up." Trowa scolded him, putting the foot up onto the couch arm.

"I just have to dance, Trowa. Like you said, I hear a tune and I just can't stay still." Quatre said, looking forlornly at his feet and making them wiggle for the hell of it.

Trowa sighed, nodding in understanding...he dropped a kiss to the slightly swollen ankle and went to find him an ice pack.

Dimitri was in the main office, looking down at the ice where Petra was coaching the novice-women's class. Trowa stepped in, near-silent, the leather soles of his dance-slippers whispering against the hardwood. He saw July walk through, her bag slung over her shoulder as she passed the rink...stopping for a moment to look at the skaters with a little smile on her face and taking a moment to wave at a slightly confused Petra. Someone would have to tell her how practice had gone to hell in a handbasket. Dimitri sighed, "We have to do something, Trowa" He said, eyes never leaving the window.

A chuckled escaped Trowa's lips, "Eyes in the back of your head, again? Damn Dim, you're going to make one kick-ass parent."

Dimitri smiled, "And don't you forget it, Boyshka. I honed it on you. I just hope Petra doesn't have a girl. There's already enough hair pulling around here from the skaters." And finally Trowa's coach turned, watching Trowa walk over to the fridge and pull out an icepack. "You're not hurt, right?" Dimitri's gruff voice asked, a little alarmed.

Trowa was amused by the concern, "No not me. Quatre. He shouldn't be dancing like that. He broke his toes--he broke them bad. He's not even supposed to be reaching for anything on tip-toe, but like a true idiot dancer, he just can't stay down."

"He's....good. I like Quatre, you know that right Trowa? But he's...very good. Good at lifts. He did a press-lift, Trowa. You noticed that, right?"

"Yeah, he's great Dim, I love working with--"

Dimitri cut him off harshly, "Use your head, Boy! No ballet dancer learns a _press_ lift. I like Quatre, but don't you think that's just a little suspicious?"

Cold shock ran through Trowa's veins "Are you trying to say that Quatre's a SPY?! He said his cousin used to lift him! I'm friggan out of competition this year! Who the hell would he be spying for anyway!"

"Team Lowe! Anyone. Trowa I'm just looking out for you since you seem to be mesmerized by every blink of his eyes. Every team in Pairs wants to know if Cathy and you are coming back. You're more interesting now, after the accident, then before. You need to be aware."

Trowa took the medical supplies and moved closer to the door, "I'll be careful then, okay?" He said harshly, then slipped out of the office and traced his steps back to the practice room.

Quatre was still laying across the couch, poking at the slight swelling with a slight frown. Quatre saw him walking in and smiled warmly, shifting so that there was plenty of room for Trowa to perch on the couch with him.

Taking him up on the offer, Trowa took Quatre's foot in hand and placed the ice pack on it, tucking it into Quatre's shoe so it wouldn't fall easily, "You need to let this heal.... hey, why don't you let me take you home?"

Quatre turned his eyes away from Trowa, looking at the closed blinds that shielded the rink from view, "Don't you have practice, or something?" Quatre said...but something in his tone brought today's fight back into perspective. Maybe Jason had been right about some things. Maybe Trowa never was there...

"It's been a colossal failure today. From dropping July to Cathy slapping me, and Dim calling you a spy? I'm done. Let me drive you home, please? I want to spend some time with you."

Quatre brightened, practically beaming, "Yeah...okay. I can make us dinner if you want to stay and visit for a while...?"

Trowa gave Quatre his hand and lifted him from the couch, grinning, "Then let's go." Dim was wrong. No spy could ever smile at Trowa so affectionately.

The first thing Trowa noticed when he went up to Quatre's room was the pair of Winnie-the-pooh PJ pants strewn on the crumpled red and gold striped bedspread. Quatre blushed and grabbed them, tossing them hastily into a hamper hidden in the closet then hurriedly straightened the covers of his bed. The room still had the sparseness of the converted guest room it was (Quatre's hadn't been boarding with Iria all that long) but Trowa could clearly see Quatre personal touches around the desk. On it were the standard text books and notes, and hastily scrawled numbers and to-do lists littered the area. To the side holding pens and pencils was a bright, Ultra-blue semi-transparent mug with Kiana School of Dance scrawled across it with a bold pointe shoe and trailing ribbons framing the logo. There was also a mounted cork board with letters and notes and pinned-up knick knacks-the whole place warmed Trowa just a little, because it was so...Quatre.

He must have bumped the mouse, because Quatre's screen suddenly turned on...and an Instant Message window was open. He wasn't SPYING, but it was kinda hard to not notice that 'Jayce-of-the-storm' was demanding "Where are you?!?" Followed by an icy "with HIM, probably."

It wasn't hard to figure out "Jayce" was Jason. Or that the cap locked "him" was Trowa. Trowa had the urge to write back "Yes he IS. Fuck you!" But thought it was a little too petty...especially since he wanted to add a "na na you suck!" at the end.... He was a grown man, for goodness sakes and was not jealous!

Then the computer went to screen saver, stopping him from typing. Not that he had been about to... Damn temptation.

Personal pictures danced across the blank screen, but one caught his interest. It was fairly recent (unlike the few of Winner family functions where the one boy looked no older then 6) and showed Quatre sticking his tongue out at whoever was holding the camera with his arm around another the neck of a boy with bright violet eyes and a devil-may care grin.

"Who's this?" Trowa asked, not the least bit jealous...really. He had to admit that the other boy was handsome, and it was obvious he and Quatre were close

"That's Duo! One of my best friends," Quatre supplied, "We took that right before I locked him and my cousin in the basement. The two of them were head over heels for each other, but wouldn't stop arguing long enough to tell the other. I thought he was SO pissed at me afterwards, since he didn't call for a good three days! Turns out they were just busy screwing like rabbits to inform me they hadn't killed each other." Quatre said with a mischievous wink.

It was then Trowa noticed that Quatre had slid out of his shirt, and was wearing a simple, nearly transparent cotton undershirt--and it looked...incredibly hot on him. He then became aware of the fact that he himself was still in his practice clothes--a simple black sleeveless shirt and clinging, stretching dance pants. Quatre was drifting his eyes over him, and when Quatre's little pink tongue came out to lick his lips....

Trowa knew. Just like that near-forgotten feeling of perfection when Trowa put on skates and he knew he wanted nothing else...Trowa knew he wanted Quatre. He was...glorious. So sexy. So gorgeous. And he made Trowa feel like he wanted to take on the world! No spy could make Trowa feel like that.

Trowa reached out, letting his hand brush against Quatre's cheek, lingering just long enough to curl around his ear-- Weaving through the soft strands of his baby-blonde hair--he brought his lips to Quatre's.

The blonde responded, kissing back warmly, affectionately, sighing into the kiss as his hands locked around Trowa's neck. Trowa wanted him just as surely as he ever wanted anything. When Quatre was in his arms, he just knew, just felt, and went with his instincts.

Trowa pushed gently, and Quatre followed his lead, not letting his lips part from Trowa's until he near-tripped over his own discarded shoes...

Quatre was wearing little denim-blue socks, Trowa noticed...and Quatre was seating himself on the bed, flushing prettily and inviting Trowa to join him with that half-lidded look. And he did. Under the watchful eyes of the Leahy and Danieil Simpkin posters on the wall, Trowa took Quatre's mouth again, tasting, teasing, exploring and melting into each other. Quatre allowed him in, melting into the kiss and into Trowa's arms until the two of them were laying on the bed, Trowa's hands caressing Quatre's sides and ribs and edging Quatre's shirt up. He knew he wanted to go to the next step with Quatre. Wanted to make him moan.

As if sensing Trowa's quest, Quatre withdrew from the kisses with an encouraging smile full of affection and desire, and lifted his shirt completely off.

And then Quatre's hands were at Trowa's sides, touching the warm skin, inching up Trowa's shirt, teasing, and tickling. The heat of Quatre's fingers was setting his blood on FIRE. He wasn't sure if he pulled, or if Quatre rose, but Quatre came into his lap, pressing against each other with lips, breath, flesh, and heartbeats as their tongues danced and fingers explored each other.

Trowa's fingers ghosted down Quatre's smooth, trembling belly to his navel and lower, following a trail of nearly-there hairs which tucked under the band of Quatre's pants, where Trowa's hands had never gone before.... Trowa broke their kiss, and turned his gaze to Quatre, licking his lips nervously, hungrily... "I want you. Can I?" Trowa asked, drifting his fingers across the restricting black pants and the straining bulge beneath.

Quatre's eyes fluttered...soft, welcoming, hazed just a little in lust...and he nodded. Trowa popped the latch-hook, slid down the zipper at his hip, and peeled back the pants. He didn't look so much as feel Quatre, letting his fingers caress the band before he ventured underneath the elastic of his underwear. Trowa's mouth came back to Quatre's, kissing him hotly, sweetly, and surely as he wrapped his hand around Quatre's weeping member, exploring the feel and length that was so similar, but different then his own. He's never done this with another boy before. He'd never kissed another boy before Quatre either, but he was rather enjoying it, anyway, as Quatre's soft kisses turned wild with passion and he moaned into Trowa's mouth to beg for more. Quatre was shorter than Trowa, but looser, silkier and when he moved his hips into the touch it was a rolling slow, powerful push and then drag, evoking whimpers and moans of desire which spurred Trowa on to move to his rhythm.

And Quatre's hands came down from Trowa's neck, caressing his shoulders and chest, smoothing over the planes and dips of Trowa's chest, mapping the flesh, flattering over--

Trowa growled as a hit of desire went straight to his already straining cock. Quatre's hands were teasing and sliding over his nipples, pinching gently as Quatre grinned into their kiss, obviously pleased with the reaction he was pulling from Trowa. Once he had all of the skater's attention, those deft fingers were traveling down Trowa's abs, squeezing and flattering over his stomach while Quatre hummed and moaned in pleasure.

Trowa hardly realized he was still jerking the blonde by the time Quatre reached the band of his dance-pants with nothing but a draw-string to hinder his movements.

And then Trowa's world went up in a cloud of pleasure as Quatre's fingers worked around him and began to stroke--stroking in time to Trowa's motions. With a shot of heady delight, Trowa realized Quatre was giving as much as he was getting, sighing and panting and dueling tongues, as together they moved against each other, working in time, racing towards the same finish.

"Wanna make you--" Quatre said, panting for breath as he broke their kisses to start a faster pace on Trowa, holding tighter as Quatre's body began to tense.

"Want YOU." Trowa growled back, his eyes opening to look straight into Quatre's, and then Quatre was going over the edge with a tumbling cry, spilling all over Trowa's hand and the front of his half-on pants.

And then Trowa was gone, thrusting into the hand that clamped tight and fast around him in those last moments, cuming with a guttural moan into Quatre's hands. Panting, Trowa pulled Quatre in tight, and the blonde happily acquiesced, laying his head against the crook of Trowa's neck as they stayed entwined, reveling in the warmth and touch and pleasure still humming in their veins.

Quatre was the first to break the quiet, his tone somewhat sleepy and lethargic with pleasure as he stayed happily wrapped around the other boy, "'Want me', Hm?" he teased, "What a change from fuck you a few hours ago."

Trowa moved to run his hands over Quatre's lower back, interlocking to rest atop his hips as he let Quatre comfortably cut off circulation to his legs, "I said I was sorry, and I said you were right... I want you. I want you all the time. Want you almost as much as I want to skate." And it was one of the few things Trowa was sure about right then. He wanted Quatre for as long as he'd have him, and heaven help anyone who tried to get in between them.

When Trowa's head finally turned itself on, he was curled tightly around Quatre, hugging as if he never intended to let go or leave his side. And Quatre was lying peacefully beside him, smiling gently.

The sound of a car door shutting was all the prompt they needed to roll apart, rapidly finding clothing and trying to fix the tell-tale signs of what they had been up to. It must have been Iria coming home from work. She was inside the house, and coming up the stairs, "Quat?? Where are you- and Trowa?" She asked. She already knew he was there? Damn. He'd left his jeep parked right out in the open and it was pretty telling.

Quatre pulled his text book off the desk and threw it onto the creased bed, and that was all the idea Trowa needed. Out from his bag he pulled his math book and binder and flopped chest down onto the rumpled covers (hiding the traces of mess on his pants), and pulled open his homework for the day. Quatre caught on quickly and followed, laying down and grabbing pencils and a highlighter to make the scene credible.

She still hadn't made it up the stairs, so Trowa took a glance over at Quatre's paper, "Hey. You're already done?"

Quatre lifted a brow, "Yeah... He gave us nearly 20 minutes in class. I was making origami for the last bit. It's not hard."

Quatre's eyes drifted to Trowa's homework...and the pages of crossed out division and barely-started questions.....one of which was wrong... "Um...Trowa..." Quatre started, "You need to use X as the denominator here."

Trowa's brows furrowed, and he began to look at his answers, and then Quatre's answers. His brows furrowed deeper.

By the time Iria had readied herself to bust into the room and break up what she was sure was hot underage sex (and damn it! Her camera was downstairs), Quatre was already demonstrating a question, with Trowa trying to follow. They looked less-than-innocent, and the room reeked of sex, but the two weren't at it now, at least. And the skater seemed too honestly baffled for it to be faked. Apparently math was not his thing?

"You boys... need some crackers or something?" Iria said, deciding on ignoring their telling proximity (and the little "Nike" athletic sock on the floor which she KNEW did not belong to Quatre).

Quatre looked up from the struggling skater and smiled at his sister, "No thanks. I think we're okay," he said, a little smile of thanks on his face for her being cool. She wasn't 'cool' exactly, but she knew when she needed to put her foot down and when not to waste her breath, and she walked out- but left the door open to stop further shenanigans. Their Dad would kill her if he found out she wasn't ringing the blonde's neck right now.

Trowa finally got the question after the fourth rather annoying try, and sighed, "I know, my math isn't too hot. I have to work on it."

Quatre smirked, quirking his lips, "There's a lot you need to work on."

Trowa's jaw dropped, "What's THAT supposed to mean!" He was so startled he didn't have time to work up righteous indignation. Was he saying he was bad at fooling around!

Quatre smiled teasingly, "Not THAT; that was just fine. Mmm." Quatre played, and began to kick his legs back and forth for something to do, "I meant your arm positions. You skate like a stick. You should dance with your whole body, let the music move you!" Quatre rolled off the bed, plopping to the floor suddenly, then popped back up with a flourish of arms and a twirl.

"Dance like you mean it!" Quatre said, a grin blooming as he raised his hands high, then arched his back, leaning nearly parallel to the floor, and let them fall open like a flower blooming. He twisted to the side and came back erect with a smile, "I never see you do those!"

"That's a layback! Only GIRLS do laybacks!" Trowa huffed, half indignant, half pulled in by Quatre's charming smile.

"Says who?"

Trowa lifted a brow, "The layback spin is a required element of the Woman's short program. It is not a requirement or even a point-scoring movement for ANY men's event! Only girls do laybacks."

"But they're so pretty!" Quatre said, bending once more back, relaxing and poising his arms to drift just atop his waist level. He couldn't very well spin while in his bedroom, but Trowa could see how great Quatre would look. It was pretty. "You're so flexible, Trowa. I know you can do one, so why don't you?" Quatre asked, sliding back up from the position again and looking at Trowa with that mischievous sparkle, "You CAN do one, right?"

Trowa raised, anchoring his body on the bed with his knees, and then dropped his head back. Trowa began to roll backwards, counter balancing by drifting his hips outward and sliding his weight back, back, back, arching like a perfect curve. Then Quatre was there, his body pressed close and his hand pushing against the middle of Trowa's back and one against his chest, urging him to curl more, giving that extra bit of support to make Trowa reach to complete the movement and get his pectorals absolutely parallel to the ground.

And Iria walked in, carrying some cans of diet pop, "What the HELL!" She squeaked, surprised.

Trowa jerked to get upright and nearly pulled everything in his body! Quatre's hands clamped tight to keep him in place, "SLOW slow! You've got to roll out of it!" and he raised the hand up Trowa's back inch by inch to work him back upright. Trowa and Quatre were so close...their breaths touching...

So when they both burst out laughing, they nearly killed each other, falling into mad giggles in a heap on Quatre's bed, splaying the homework in all directions.

"Well, THAT was awkward." Trowa finished, smiling as Iria walked back out of the room muttering something about 'psychotic performers' under her breath.

Quatre grinned, "Maybe... but your layback was really hot, you know."

"I'm not a girl." Trowa threw back, settling back down in front of his math.

Quatre relaxed beside, him pointing to a few more questions...then leaned in and dropped a kiss to Trowa's neck, "Amen for that."


	12. Chapter 12

**Keep in Time**

_Dentelle_noir_

**Summary**: AU 3x4. A suspicious accident leaves Trowa without a skating partner, sentencing him to a year without competition. Quatre is an injured dancer, trying to find a way to live without his joy. Together, they make new rules and find a new path.

Re-posted old chapters with new beta work, new chapters to be added VERY SOON!

**CHAPTER 12 **

Quatre slid his skates off and pulled his runners on quickly, rushing to keep pace with Trowa (who was like lighting, able to change from ice-bound to ground bound with a single thought). Gym class had become a whole other layer of interesting, as Quatre began to find himself learning Trowa's movements and following them just for the fun of it. Even during warm ups, Quatre couldn't help but follow Trowa's routine, and since they were both there.... It became almost like an impromptu practice every class, Trowa and Quatre moving together, each day getting a little move in sync, each day Quatre gaining confidence and ability, until he knew the moves just as well as Trowa and could do them by his side, instead of a little behind him.

Trowa was having a ball, because when he got to be with Quatre AND skate? It was heaven, and at school he didn't have to deal with July-not yet, anyway- and how each day having to skate with her, Trowa felt a little chip of his confidence fall away, and a little space of depression coming to take its place. How could he ever compete again?

But when he was with Quatre, that all went away, and all he wanted to do was skate. The coach even stopped trying to keep them apart, just letting them have at it for the last bit of class and watching as their movements got better, stronger, more confident even as the outdoor rink's ice melted a little more each day.

Coached called it done for the day, and together they moved towards the school for lunch. Almost as if it were second nature, Quatre reached out for Trowa's hand, meeting it half-way between their walking forms and together they headed to Quatre's locker to grab his lunch and put the skates away.

Unfortunately, almost at the cafeteria, Quatre's shoelace unraveled from its hasty bow and he stopped in the corridor to bend and fix it, waving his group of friends onward, taking a few minutes to do it right, since the too-big sleeves of Trowa's sweater kept falling over his fingers and making them clumsy. His friends were well into the cafeteria by the time Quatre got it.

They were standing against the lockers in the corridor facing the cafeteria, Quatre having just stood up and leant against Trowa for a quick peck when it happened.

A group of four or five of the most posh, preppy kids walked by, eyes flicking to their entwined hands and sneers lighting their faces. "Fags!" one snorted disdainfully under their breath, and like a pack of hyenas the rest all laughed.

Trowa's eyes narrowed in rage, but Quatre grabbed onto his sleeve, holding him back with a plea in his eye: "Don't make it worse," he seemed to say. It was ridiculous to get upset over it.

Behind the snickering group walked Cathy, with Jeff at her arm.

Her eyes were scanning the lockers and landed on their still-held hands. With a subtle lift of her gaze, her eyes moved to her brother's face, and then moved away just as quickly-- as if oblivious to any recognition. Trowa was floored.

Jeff sneered openly, catching Quatre's eye and with a vicious smile he raised his finger to his throat and slit in threat, breaking out into hysterics when Quatre paled. They turned the corridor into the cafeteria and melted into the previous group without a ripple.

A little unsettled now, Quatre tugged on Trowa's sleeve to get out of the hall, but the skater was frozen looking at the retreating back of his sister--a look of sheer confusion, betrayal, and hurt stuck on his face. "Forget those assholes," Quatre said, moving Trowa closer to the lunch hall. Quatre knew his friends were already there, and he believed firmly in safety in numbers.

"I'll meet you there," Trowa said, his confusion turning into the burning embers of rage as it all settled in.

"Trowa?" Quatre asked, searching the older boy's face.

Trowa focused on Quatre and gave him a reassuring smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. He tugged Quatre's arm to lead him into the cafeteria and then let his hand slip away once Quatre had spotted his friends. He trusted they would take care of Quatre. It was too late to stop him before Quatre realized Trowa wasn't beside him anymore.

Trowa towered at the head of a lunch table, glaring down at the core of popularity. One girl looked up from her daintily held diet coke and gave him an appraising elevator stare, then dismissed him as riff-raff.

But Trowa wasn't taking any of that; He walked right up to Jeff and pushed himself right beside him, standing over the seated jock with murder in his eye.

"What the hell you want, Fag?" Jeff sneered, coming off awfully confident in his chances against someone he didn't classify as a threat. Jeff moved to shake Trowa's presence off with a rough elbow shove.

Trowa put his hand to Jeff's shoulder and shoved right back, sending the jock into the people sitting beside him, "You EVER threaten Quatre again, in any fucking way, I'll go Tonya Harding on your ass so fast you won't know what fucking hit you." Trowa growled, baring his teeth in pure fury.

Cathy gasped, "Trowa! That shit will get you kicked out of the skating league!"

Trowa returned Cathy's apathy from earlier and refused to even hear her as he goaded Jeffy-boy on with his eyes. Cathy, though, put her proverbial foot down, "Let it GO, Trowa! God, it was just a joke! You're such a child." And that dismissal hurt more than anything. He was ready to pummel the jock, just to say he had... but his sister's glare stopped him. As much as Trowa was still angry Cathy had slapped him yesterday, he couldn't seem to stop himself from wanting her approval. Cathy was more than his sister, she was nearly his mother, and he never wanted to make her angry over something so stupid. He backed down, leaving with nothing more than an icy glare in Jeff's direction and a hissed, "I'm not as nice as I look, Asshole. Don't FUCK with me," under his breath.

Across the lunch room, where Quatre was sitting with his friends, a commotion started to escalate. Trowa stalked away from Jeff and made it to Quatre's table in time to hear Quatre hiss "Back OFF, Jason!" in pure anger before the spiky-haired punk was standing and grabbing Quatre's arm by the thick excess of sweater. Obviously Trowa was wrong in trusting them to watch over Quatre! His temper was already near the boiling point, and now he could feel the steam starting to build up, ready to explode.

Jason wrenched Quatre from his seat, "What the fuck's HE got that I don't?!" Jason demanded, his voice rising in pitch and volume as his face turned a deeper red in anger.

Quatre got his footing and then wrenched his arm back with a growl of frustration, "Grow UP, Jason!" putting a hand to Jason's chest and shoving him out of his space with force-- And closer to the already-pissed-off Trowa without meaning to.

Jason turned his attention to Trowa, snarling "You must be some hot shit," while he came right at Trowa, trying to intimidate him even though Jason was some half a foot shorter and not nearly as built.

That was IT!

Trowa tightened his fist and pulled back, and _WHAM_, he hit the little fucker right between the eyes, not even following through with half his strength. Jason went sprawling to the floor, though, clutching the side of his face with a screaming, sobbing keel of pain.

The teachers began to stream to the side of the wailing boy while security began to round on Trowa. "Pansy! I didn't even hit him hard enough to give him a black eye!" Trowa growled. A restraining hand came down on Trowa's shoulder and he shook it off viciously, crossing his hands over his chest to stop himself from hitting anyone else.

Quatre was trying desperately to get over to Trowa, but was being stopped by security at every step, glaring a little, but looking more upset then mad, then he pushed through security to wrap his arms around Trowa, hugging him tightly, "What's gotten into you... You didn't have to hit him, Trowa... He wouldn't have really started anything..."

"He was grabbing at you!" Trowa defended, soaking up the warmth from Quatre, "I protect the people I care about."

The bright, blushing smile that crept over Quatre's smile was nearly blinding, making Trowa warm all over and feel like maybe, for once, he'd done something right? Even if the school admin didn't seem to think so, as they started to round on him with glares, and sent his ass home, determined to send a very angry message to his guardian- And Uncle S was in the Netherlands now, if Trowa remembered correctly. Apparently the Admin didn't like hearing that, and with Cathy's SCREAMING insistence, they called Dimitri instead.

He was going to hear it... But not until practice time.

With Cathy in school, the house was deserted and Trowa didn't have to worry about coming home to sarcasm and disdain. He didn't realize how much of a weight his sister's presence had started to become until he felt such glorious relief that she _wasn't there_.

He was also startlingly happy that Iria really was pretty cool, because after Quatre had called her and explained the situation, and how "emotionally distraught" he was about it (the admin actually put that on the absence note, too) Iria gave him permission to leave.

Trowa let both he and Quatre inside, closing the door behind them and locking it for good measure, sighing happily when just the quiet and dark of the house met them.

"Tro... What's up with you? You can't be this upset over a little banter...?" Quatre asked, coming to lean close to him and kissing him gently, goading him into talking with a little affection and a gentle shoulder massage.

It worked like a charm, of course, and Trowa was walking them over to the couch and sitting down, pulling Quatre comfortably into his lap and just holding him for a few minutes. "I was mad that he threatened you...but... Cathy..."

And Trowa dropped his head onto Quatre's shoulder, keeping the blonde straddled across his lap, "Did you see how she looked at me?...Quat...."

Quatre rolled his eyes and sighed, "Cathy's a bitch, Trowa. I know you love her cause she's your sister, but she's a controlling bitch. You can bet as soon as she finds out that we're practicing together that she's going to spazz and demand that you break up with me. Will you?" Quatre moved away from Trowa, looking at him hard, "Are you going to drop me because she tells you too? Because she's jealous that you and I can work together? I'm no damn threat to her-- We can't even compete, even IF Petra and Dim let me on the professional ice with you, which they only do when we're being silly!"

"It's not like that...." Trowa started, but the hardening of Quatre's eyes told him he hadn't wanted to hear that. "She's my SISTER, Quatre; my only family! I have to stick by her..."

"No, You don't." Quatre said harshly, glaring now, "Not if she's leading you down a path you know is wrong. If my sister told me to steal, I still wouldn't do it. I wouldn't tell on her, as per my brotherly duty, but I wouldn't DO it. You have a responsibility to yourself, too. You're your own person! You don't have to have her holding your hand every damn step of the way."

"She's not asking me to do something dishonest!" Trowa retaliated.

Quatre rolled his eyes, "Trowa...If she said jump..." Quatre stopped before he finished that thought, though. Tact over truth might get his point across better.

"Trowa, she's acting out of misplaced jealousy. She can't skate...And it makes her crazy to see you still doing it-- and doing it better. Face it; you're doing damn good without her... You landed a triple! She can't even do a press-lift!"

Trowa didn't know how to respond--didn't WANT to respond, so instead he dropped a kiss to Quatre's shoulder, happy to have him so near, even though Trowa could tell that he was mad, "So... your cousin's birthday party, right? Is it casual clothes, or did you want me to show in my skating gear?" Trowa asked, trying to steer the conversation to the first thing he could think of that had nothing to do with Cathy.

Quatre saw the topic change from a mile away, and decided to just leave it for a while. Trowa had heard his point, beating him over the head with it wouldn't help. So instead Quatre started to toy with his hair, "I'm wearing jeans... I mean, I don't have anything rink-appropriate, really. The party's a couple hours, and even when I'm just out fooling around with you at the rink I'm freezing after fifteen with just the jazz pants on."

Trowa startled, "Why didn't you tell me?!"

"I use your sweater...."

"I have some things you could wear. I've been skating for years, so I have tons of skate-pants and such. You can wear them for ballet too, if you wanted. They're too small for me, now... Do you want to see what I have? You can keep anything that fits." Trowa said, running his hands down Quatre's side gently, watching as Quatre began to smile.

"Well.... Maybe I can...just LOOK I mean... I know that custom stuff isn't cheap, I wouldn't just take them..." he said, trying to be humble, even though he was excited about seeing some of Trowa's old costumes.

Trowa moved Quatre off him, then stood, moving towards his basement door, "We keep all the old suits down here."

Flicking the light on and taking the stairs first, Trowa lead the way downstairs. The place wasn't a fancy finished basement or anything-- it was storage and a sub pump, but Trowa immediately started thinking dirty thoughts when he saw the futon and coffee table ensemble down there which they hadn't used in a while, and it got Trowa thinking that the basement was nice and private, where no one would even know if Trowa brought Quatre down there.

Forcing his mind onto the task at hand, Trowa yanked his eyes away from the newly dubbed 'make-out central', and towards the walls of boxes, flicking his eyes over the piles and starting to dig through a few. They never had labeled them or anything, but Trowa knew that he kept his things all on the same wall, at least. He pulled down about ten boxes, tossing them towards the couch area so they could sit and sift through them.

Trowa dug in with the intent to find Quatre some skate guards that actually fit. Quatre was having fun just looking at all the things, smiling when he recognized one of the outfits from the pictures he'd seen at the rink. Trowa had won gold wearing it, and sure enough, inside the same box was a framed picture of Trowa, in that suit, holding up a gold trophy high above his head. He had been a singles skater at age 10, and he was good enough for gold then.... But Quatre didn't say what he was thinking, because Trowa really was not ready to hear that suggestion.

Trowa had moved on to another box...but his was far more recent. A Cavalier costume... And a pair of white skates....the blades still sharp, and the leather crisp and new...

"Trowa, what's wrong?" Quatre asked, alarmed that Trowa went completely quiet. His boyfriend's body was practically vibrating from stress... Quatre wrapped his arms around him to see what was so interesting.... A pair of skates?

Trowa put them down on the couch, then slid his hand inside, and as soon as he moved it, Quatre gasped; there was a four-inch slice straight along the connection between the leather of the skate and the hard bottom. It was obvious now. "Cathy's?" Quatre said, but didn't really need to.

"I don't know why she didn't see it... She says that she didn't feel that there was anything wrong with her gear...but she was so preoccupied before the show... There were cameras and people asking her for interviews. Dimitri told us never to do interviews before we skated, because we needed to be focused, but Cathy... She liked doing interviews…They kept asking her how she hoped to win, I mean, Team Lowe had us outscored from the short program and our long wasn't designed to score enough points. If we skated clean and got great scores we might have broken even with them…She was really worried about the win, so, I mean… She was preoccupied…"

Quatre nodded. Cathy would like interviews-- It was attention. But as Quatre began to look at the skate, he began to frown, "Trowa... how the hell didn't she notice this, even preoccupied?!"

"It didn't fully rip until we were skating," Trowa said in her defense, "It was only knifed in a few places... it should have just made the hold loose, making her landings terrible...Or she should have seen it, and skated in her spare boots- and that's always enough to make a skater a little nervous. It's not uncommon in skating to see this sort of thing... spray paint on your duffle bag, your costume shredded by an opponent. Competition is really tough, and some people will do anything just to spook you into a bad performance...that's why we never leave our things un-guarded but... She didn't see it. And...It ripped, and she lost all control over her foot. She landed wrong and hit the boards... on the one turn that I couldn't have helped her..."

Quatre looked at the skate...frowning. He kept it to himself, but he'd had his shoes tampered with too. He'd been a prima ballerina, for God's sakes, and it was as highly competitive as skating. He knew how to protect his gear... And he knew that there was no way that he wouldn't notice knife cuts to his shoes! He inspected his equipment every time he put it on... And he knew that Trowa did too. Why didn't she? Was she even serious at all about her skating career? That hadn't seemed to have occurred to Trowa yet, though...

"Trowa.... I'm not saying this because I'm your boyfriend, or because I happen to dislike Cathy. From my background as a professional performer, I will tell you: YOU are the only talent in team Barton."

"Quatre please!" Trowa said angrily, "Cathy's my sister! I need her!"

"NO. You DON'T!" Quatre yelled in exasperation, flinging the skate back into the box, "She never COULD skate to your level! I've heard all about it! You were always pulling the high-score maneuvers. Your lifts were always creative on the height and maneuverability of the toss-- which is all YOU, Trowa! I know why July has gone psycho to skate with you. You're GOOD, Trowa. You're really GOOD. And with you comes fame and talent. You're a gold medalist for Fuck's sake! And you did it WITHOUT Cathy." And Quatre dug into that box, and pulled out the picture of young Trowa, holding the gold trophy back in minors and showed him.

Trowa turned away, sifting through the box in front of him, his body language saying that the point was heard but the conversation **was done now** .

Quatre sighed....and snuggled up to Trowa's side, dropping it for now, since his point had been made. Having come to the realization that Trowa was putty in his hands as long as he was touching him, Quatre used that to his advantage and stopped the argument before it could start with a soft press of his lips to Trowa's shoulder, then steered the conversation into more neutral ground. "Costumes?"

Trowa pulled out a pair of white tights... But when Quatre held them, he saw that they were actually a thick but stretchy pant made to fit the form and move, but to look as if they were nothing but gauze. "These are...cool."

Trowa's frown lifted for a moment into a smile, "Nothing but the best for us." And he began to search through a few more boxes, finding a few more of his pieces. They were all long for Quatre, but with a little tailoring, they would fit. Trowa didn't even tell him how much each set of those had cost, though, because Trowa wanted to see Quatre performing as good as he could. He found another pair in blue--also too small for Trowa now but just about right for Quatre's narrower frame.

"Hey, cool, these match my new sweater. OH! I can wear these for my cousin's birthday!" Quatre said, holding the blue pair in glee and punching Trowa's shoulder happily. "I'm so excited... I have hardly had a chance to talk to my cousin since you and I have got together, since he's been out of the country, but I know he'd like to meet you. You're still coming, aren't you? Next Wednesday at 6 o'clock.?"

Trowa frowned, thinking over his schedule... "I think I could manage....Wait. Petra wouldn't have the rink booked then...?"

"It's at the Lowe rink, remember." Quatre said with a shrug, "Petra's isn't the only rink in town."

Trowa rolled his eyes, "The only GOOD rink," he said back.

"Lowe's has hot tubs right in the dressing-"

Trowa glared, "Let's not TALK about that. Petra's is better! We work hard without all the bullshit floofy shit. We don't need it! I don't NEED a hot tub to win!" he fumed, a little flush coming across Trowa's face, as if this little hint of jealously wasn't really a new thing. Apparently Pertra's less-then-rich facilities were a sore spot for Trowa.

Quatre nodded solemnly, trying not to snicker. He was about to offer to take a dip with Trowa IN that hot tub, but that might have been a little too much nose-rubbing for the ruffled skater to deal with. So, instead he decided to lean back on the futon, putting the practice clothes aside, and batting his lashes at Trowa. He had him all to his own and behind closed doors, and Quatre wasn't stupid enough to waste the opportunity.

They barely heard the movement in the house, but when the stairs to the basement creaked loudly, they knew that they were caught.

Cathy hobbled into the basement, eyes glowing in ferocity. She got enough steps down to look into the basement, and screamed bloody murder, "GET OFF MY BROTHER!"

Quatre hadn't even had enough time to conceal anything! He had been straddled across Trowa's lap, their bodies rolling and grinding against one another's. Quatre didn't even know where his shirt had gone, although he knew that Trowa's shirt was dangling off his knee, but at least they hadn't gotten to taking their pants off yet. Trowa had been kissing his way down Quatre's chest when she came in, with Quatre's hands wrapped around the back of Trowa's neck and begging for more.

"Cathy! It's not..." Trowa started, then tapered off as he realized that not only did he not have an excuse, but that he should not have to give her one, either!

"What's going on down here..." and then two people gaping at them. July had apparently been with Cathy, and she was walking down behind the cast-wearing teen. July got one eyeful and frowned, glaring at Quatre as if he was some home-wrecker!

Quatre glared back at her, "Do you have a problem, July? Or would you like to pick my brain some more on how to secure a position as Trowa's skating partner?"

"Don't talk to her like that, you little whore! Get off my brother and get out of my house. NOW!" Cathy screamed, turning red in the face in sheer anger.

Trowa protested by wrapping his arm around Quatre's waist, "Don't talk to him like that, Cathy. He's my boyfriend! I don't say anything about you and Jeff-y boy. Leave us alone!"

"I WON'T, Trowa! First you announce your fag-status to the world by going ga-ga over the blonde, then you skip practices and stay out all night, and today you were fighting! You're throwing away your career! Everything we've worked for! Queers don't get gold, Trowa!" Cathy screamed before anyone else could say a word, her eyes saying she wanted to hobble all the way down the rickety stairs to pry Quatre off Trowa, but clearly unable to with the cast. It was the first time that Trowa was glad for that little handicap...

Quatre rolled his eyes, "Don't give me that crap. Half the male skaters are gay, even though they aren't out of the closet."

July stepped up then, "Image is everything in skating! In any sport! You can't break the mold and still be on top! You need to be incredible, not exceptional, if you want to go professional! You aren't helping Trowa by being seen everywhere all over him! I'm doing him a favor by trying to work with him!" July yelled back.

"FAVOR?! You're doing NOTHING for him! You don't even particularly LIKE him, you just want to attach your name to his for the fame!" Quatre spat back.

"Please, Stop it! STOP IT!" Trowa growled, keeping Quatre from going up there and kicking some ass with his hands around his waist.

Cathy glared at the area, then her eyes trained on the cavalier costume...and her skate. She paled, looking from the skate to Quatre and back, then she started to fume even more vicious then ever before. "You're nothing but a SPY! You were going through our THINGS!" Cathy screamed back, glaring at Quatre and spitting like a cat.

"What the fuck?! A SPY for WHAT?! Why don't you ask JULY! Ask her how she figured out how to seal getting Trowa as a skating partner and THEN tell me who's playing the subterfuge game!" Quatre hissed back, then glared, "NOW get out! And close the door behind you! My boyfriend and I are busy!"

"You little WHORE! Get out of my house!" Cathy yelled, on the cusp of an all-out tantrum.

Trowa moved, sitting up and moving out from underneath Quatre, grabbing their shirts from the floor, "Let's go, Quatre... I have to get to practice... Let me drive you to your class?" He asked softly

"Let him walk his ass to his class, and you take July to practice, as you SHOULD be doing," Cathy hissed.

And that was IT! Trowa lost all sense of cool and just screamed: "Why don't YOU, Cathy! You seem to like her so much!"

"So do you!" Cathy flung back.

"No, no I really don't! All she talks about is celebrity gossip and hair-care secrets. She's as creative as a ROCK and all she listens to is that god damn classical music over and over and OVER! I can't STAND IT! I'm giving QUATRE a ride to his class, and July can walk HER ass to the rink! Then, I'll try to skate with her, even though it's destined to be a disaster! Why? Because I am a PROFFESIONAL and I won't let your injury keep me from skating, unlike YOU," Trowa finally stood up, putting his shirt over and then moving towards the stairs, "Now get out of my way!"

Trowa pushed them up the stairs, making Cathy have to lean right out of the way, and picking July right up to move her so they could get through.

Quatre waved daintily, a huge grin on his face as he got to the door, "Buh~bye, Cathy-baby!" and he sent her a scathing blow-kiss as he closed the door behind them, climbing into the passenger seat of Trowa's jeep a minute later, and cranking his music as Trowa backed out.

_You take what you get and you get what you give--I say don't run from yourself, man, that's no way to live  
I've got a record in my bag you should give it a spin--Lift your hands in the air so that life can begin_


	13. Chapter 13

**Keep in time**

_Dentelle_noir_

**Summary**: AU 3x4. A suspicious accident leaves Trowa without a skating partner, sentencing him to a year without competition. Quatre is an injured dancer, trying to find a way to live without his joy. Together, they make new rules and find a new path.

A/N: If you haven't read ch 12 recently, I suggest reading it before this chapter, because this chapter follows directly after.

* * *

**Chapter 13**

The tension at the rink was palatable. Trowa had shown up just a few minutes late, with his clothes a little disheveled and the tell-tale smell of Quatre's cologne still sticking to him, but he got changed and was on the rink shortly after. He wasn't surprised to see Cathy in the office, screaming her head off to Petra and Dimitri-- Not after the fight on the basement stairs.

Trowa just did his warm-ups, moving through the motions and letting it settle him. Today was a pairs day, too, meaning July was already on the rink working through her warm-ups. He'd meant it when he said that he would still skate with her, because he was a professional and he could keep personal feelings out of it. He limbered up just a few moments later and turned to her. "Let's work through the same routine as yesterday," he said, and July nodded tightly.

They didn't crash, didn't hit each other, and didn't swear at each other. It was the most technically perfected routine they had ever done....

Upstairs, Petra blinked, "They're..."

"Terrible." Dimitri put in, watching the two of them skate. They didn't flow. They could walk the walk, but there was no poetry. Even Trowa, who always seemed to put a little love into his movements, was ram-rod straight and mechanical; he was just going through the motions.

Petra looked down at them, her main focus on July, who had been her skater for years, "I-- I don't know what to do with them. July's getting worse because of Trowa, and Trowa's getting more out of shape the longer this goes on. I don't know if our skate club can keep him at this rate."

Dimitri tensed all over, "You aren't suggesting we let him go to another club! Who?! The Lowe rink? There's no way Trowa would even get half the individual training he needs with Heero Yuy as their star male pair skater. He'd have to move cities... There's a girl in Chicago looking…"

Petra sighed, "Do you really think that Trowa would agree to change coaches? You know that you can't move to Chicago. And you've trained Trowa since he was little. His guardian is always off globetrotting somewhere; you're as close to a parent as he's got, Dimitri! You can't leave him. I don't think he could handle that much change. Not right now. He's just getting over the accident…"

Downstairs, Trowa and July moved through their cool-downs, oblivious of the conversation above. The music changed as Trowa got the remote, moving it to something more upbeat, happier. He worked through his cool-downs while the music blared around him. July completely shut out the music and moved into a set of perfectly scripted cool-down stretches, and then took to the gate, sparing the free-styling skater one backwards glance, a roll of the eyes, and a huff of "What was I thinking!" crossing her lips.

"This is going nowhere," Petra finally admitted.

Cathy looked down at the rink from the large windows in the office and scowled, "They're FINE! Doing better than ever before! I'm telling you, it's that BLONDE! That little blonde whore is RUINING Trowa's career! He was looking through our COSTUMES and GEAR! He could have been sabotaging Trowa! And my brother wouldn't even bat an eyelash! Trowa's as gullible as they come! I want you to put your foot down, Dimitri! For the good of Trowa's career! He'll listen to you! He won't listen to me anymore!" She was yelling.

But Dimitri wouldn't have one more word of it, "CATHY BARTON! You will shut the HELL UP! At least he's down there!"

"I'm INJURED!" Cathy yelled back, a flush coming to her face.

"That wouldn't stop Trowa! And it DOESN'T stop Quatre! You know how badly hurt that 'little blonde whore' is, and he STILL goes to dance classes four times a week, even though he can't even JUMP off his feet! Quatre has drive! And you? You can't get off your brother's case for FIVE MINUTES to look at yourself! What have you done to stay in the game, Cathy? Nothing. I won't have you bad mouthing Trowa anymore!"

Petra started to move over to her husband to settle him, but it didn't matter: Dimitri was done. He pushed passed both Petra and Cathy, walking down to the rink with purpose, "July! Thank you for your time, but we do not need your services anymore. Trowa, I want you free-styling." He said, "I won't lose one more minute of practice!"

"DIMITRI! You can't!" Petra yelled, agog.

"Trowa's MY skater, Petra! And it's high time I put my foot down! This has gone on long enough! Trowa, axels! MOVE!"

July sucked back a breath and blinked quickly, not believing that she had just been fired like that. She looked at Trowa, but he was already moving to follow coach's orders. He said nothing. Not a goodbye, not a thanks, not even a 'it was nice to meet you'. She knew they didn't skate well together, but they were still fellow skaters.

Obviously Trowa didn't respect her enough to give her a goodbye. So she pushed off the ice with her chin up, grabbed her things, and trudged out the rink as fast as she could. She had places to be, people to see, class to attend.

She spared one last look at Trowa, but he was listening to Dimitri give him pointers on his axel. Once that was done, Trowa reached in his pocket for the little purple MP3 player, and let the sound system blast while he jumped again and again, landing more elegantly each time. He wasn't even aware of July leaving. It was just him and the ice. Nearly perfect.

* * *

Chalk. Yes, definitely smelled like chalk and a bitter rubberness that was almost more taste than smell. Quatre would know, really; his face had been mashed into the floor of the dance studio for the count of thirty every few days. "And lift!" the instructor called, and Quatre rolled out of the butterfly stretch, sitting up even though his legs stayed in the diamond and his feet together. "And arms!" the instructor called, and Quatre reached up high, stretching along with the rest of the class.

It was during the splits when the door to the studio opened, and July walked in. Her eyes were all red and she was still wearing her skating clothes, but she walked in and took a spot right next to Quatre—Bold.

After the angry words they had just a few hours ago on Trowa's basement steps, he really hadn't thought that July would even look at him. She didn't, not really anyway, but she only made it through two kinds of splits before she was on her feet, walking out and wiping furiously at her eyes.

Even though Quatre was mad at her for taking Cathy's side, he couldn't leave her like that! After all was said and done, they were still friends, and Quatre understood why July did what she had. And if he were to be honest with himself, if put in the same situation Quatre knew that he would act the same way. He got up, slipped out of class without making a fuss, and followed her into the dressing room. She was sobbing quietly, holding a tissue to her mouth to muffle the sounds.

Quatre sat down beside her, and with a sigh he wrapped his arms around her, "Shh, shh, what's the matter?"

"Trowa's such an- an asshole!" July spat out, then put the tissue back to her mouth to muffle another broken sob.

Shocked, Quatre looked at her hard, "Did he hit you or something?! What happened!"

"He was such an asshole to me today, Quatre! I got cut from the team….And he just…went on as if it hardly mattered to him one way or the other! Not a goodbye, not anything! I know we weren't clicking but I thought we were friends! But- wait, why would you think he hit me?"

"Trowa got sent home from school for fighting today; He sent one of my friends on his ass in the cafeteria. And after that huge fight in the basement? I don't know what he would do."

July shook his head, "He wouldn't hit me. He's an asshole, but he's not violent. Just an prick."

"He's been under a lot of stress. He probably didn't mean to be so cold…I'm sure he still likes you…" he tried.

July turned to Quatre, clearly surprised, "What do you care, anyway…I thought you hated me after I didn't stick up for you. Cathy was just yelling shit and I backed her up. I don't feel that way about you and Trowa. I like both of you. I just really want to skate in the big leagues." She dabbed her eyes and put the tissue down, seeming to calm a little more now. "It's so fucking hard to get a break in the woman's section. I thought that skating with Trowa would give me the edge I needed to get noticed. He gets so much extra ice time and coaching and he actually had sponsors last year! I'd do anything to skate with the pros. So I just… went along with Cathy. I really thought you'd hate me…"

Quatre shrugged, "I don't hate you… although to be honest, I am a little happy you got cut. I don't like you trying to steal my boyfriend…"

"GOD, I don't want the boyfriend bits! Ew!" She said with a grimace.

"HEY! I happen to like his boyfriend bits. He has very nice boyfriend bits! What's wrong with his bits?!"

"Sure he's good looking, but he listens to POP music!" She said as if that were the worst curse in the world.

"I like pop music!" Quatre defended.

July turned, smirking, "That's okay. No one's perfect. And really, Trowa sure is wrapped up in you, or well, UNDER you. You sure seemed to enjoy riding him from what I saw."

Quatre flicked her playfully, "You got more of an eyeful than I would have wanted! And we both had our pants on!"

"And WHAT an eyeful, whoo, that was pretty hot," July said, grinning gently. Quatre blushed a little, but more from jealously than embarrassment. July smiled, "Don't worry, Quat! The only ride I want from Trowa is one to this weekend's school-merge party!"

Quatre rolled his eyes, "No way! He's driving ME to that party!" He said, "And he's going to be my date, even if he doesn't know it yet!"

July laughed, "Me~ow" she bantered back, "You got his social calendar all set up, apparently"

"He probably wouldn't go if I didn't beg him too. But it's going to be great. All the kids from the private school will be there, and so will the kids from our school. It's celebrating the amalgamation of the two schools! He can't miss it!"

July smiled, relaxing a bit. Things with Quatre were back to normal, back to make-up tips and talking about the dance. "You're good for him, Quat. Really good for him. Tell him that I said he was an asshole, kay? But I could probably forgive him… If he gives me a ride to the party."

"I'll tell him, but it ain't gonna happen," Quatre said, tugging at her hair playfully, unraveling a little from the bun, "Now. Before Madam comes in here and gives us a hundred plièrs, let's go?" July wiped at her eyes once more, and composed herself enough to re-join the stretch class.

* * *

Trowa was waiting in the jeep at the end of Quatre's practice, and he was rather surprised. Out of the dance studio came Quatre, alright, but in his arms was a red-eyed July, whom he seemed to be comforting… Didn't they fight earlier? What was all this?

Quatre handed her off to another dancer, making sure she got into the car, and then he walked over to Trowa, glaring, and climbed in the passenger side with a glower, "You didn't have to be that way to her, you know." He hissed.

Trowa felt like he was in the twilight zone, "What did I do?!"

"She was crying, Trowa! She's still my friend! What did you say to her? She wanted me to tell you that you're an asshole!" Quatre grilled, crossing his arms angrily.

Trowa huffed, "I didn't say ANYTHING to her! She got cut! Simple enough! I was nice about it! She's a nice person and all, but I can't skate with her! So, she got cut. I didn't say a word!"

Quatre looked out the front window and sighed, his anger leaving, "I thought that's what it was. You didn't even say goodbye, did you?" he said breathily, then looked at Trowa, "Can you take me home, Trowa, maybe have dinner with me? We'll do some homework?" He asked, leaning back in the seat, looking a little upset over the whole thing.

"I can't win, can I?" Trowa growled, "You're upset I was skating with her, and now you're upset that she got cut!"

"I'm upset because my friend is upset, okay! It's complicated!" Quatre huffed, "She was CRYING her EYES OUT in the dressing room! How am I supposed to feel? Overjoyed?!"

Trowa put the car into drive and pulled out without a reply. Apparently he was an asshole anyway! He couldn't win! At least he was still being invited in, though, which meant that maybe Quatre didn't really want to do homework at all. He could hope, at least. And when he caught Quatre looking at his legs as he drove, he thought that maybe he had a bit more than a hope.

* * *

Quatre laid on his bed, blissed out, and snuggled against the pillow that Trowa had just vacated. It wasn't warm anymore, but it still kinda smelled like him. Trowa had left to go home about twenty minutes before. Quatre actually expected a call tonight about the homework—They hadn't gotten one whit of studying done, their hands too busy making the other moan while swallowing each other's tongues. Quatre felt a little pleasurable thrill thinking about it. But Quatre wasn't having as many problems in school as Trowa was. The guy had no clue about half of their math workload, because he missed nearly three classes a week. Trowa had told him that he used to have a tutor, but his guardian wouldn't pay for the tutor anymore since Trowa was in school a lot more now—Trowa used to be gone for weeks on end doing exhibitions in other cities, much like Quatre's cousin was, but now that he was there more often, his guardian didn't think he needed the tutor.

His cell phone rang, and Quatre picked it up, "Did you use the right formula, Trowa?" He said before even saying hello, smirking.

"I'm not Trowa, but I know what YOU'VE been up to now, and it's pretty obvious that his cock is more important than your friends!" Jason's voice was angry, hard, "I waited for you!"

Quatre was completely floored…then went pale, "…The movie…"

"Yes. The movie. Tonight. We even went to a later show so that you could come after that stupid class of yours, and you were a no show."

"How…was it?" Quatre asked, squirming in his spot a little. Ah hell, he screwed up.

"Everyone else said it was good. I waited for you." Jason repeated. Quatre felt like a heel. Jason had obviously waited outside the theater for him to come- and he never came, because he had been with Trowa and totally forgot.

"I-I'm sorry, Jason…" Quatre said, feeling like he'd been socked in the gut, "…I… I forgot all about it. July was so upset today…"

"Don't lie! You were with Trowa!" Jason hissed, "What happened to loyalty to your friends!"

Quatre felt his back go up, "C'mon Jason! I fucked up! No need to lay it on so thick!" he protested, sliding up his bed and sitting against the wall, "And I never asked you to wait for me and miss the movie!"

"Yeah, well, someone had to wait for you! And I thought you'd be so mad if you missed it—apparently I was wrong." Jason said, then toned down his hostile attitude, "I'm sorry, look, I just…was worried. That skater guy's fucking strong! I should know! He gave me a black eye!"

Quatre still felt terrible about that, even though it was more like a little cut then a black eye, really. Jason was being a baby about the whole thing. But he didn't want to ruffle feathers, "How about I make it up to you? I'll take you to see that movie?" Quatre offered, playing right into Jason's hand.

"Not if you're going to bring Trowa too. I hate that guy," Jason wheedled.

"Alright," Quatre agreed, "Just me, then. I'll take you and make it up."

"Wednesday?" Jason hedged.

"I have my cousin's party on Wednesday…how about…Thursday? I'll make it up to you on Thursday. I'll even buy POPCORN!" he offered just to appease the boy. He was sure Trowa would NOT be thrilled at all, but he would understand once Quatre explained the situation. And he would have tons of time to explain it all on Wednesday during the party.

Jason happily complied, "See? That wasn't so hard, now was it?"

Quatre rolled his eyes, "I said I was sorry, Jason…" about the movie, at least. "But you DID deserve that punch. You hurt me when you grabbed at me like that! And I thought for a minute that you were going to punch me. Trowa was just protecting me. And he didn't even level you!"

Jason growled, "Don't stick up for him! He's a fucking--" Jason cut himself off before he wound himself up more, "You know what? I'll see you Thursday. And I DON'T wanna see HIM okay. Bye."

The line went dead after that, and Quatre groaned, dropping his head to his pillows with an exaggerated sigh. And he thought ballerinas were moody!? Slowly but surely, the longer he stayed with Trowa the less friends he seemed to have. Last time he had a group project, the teacher had to assign him a group!

It was pathetic. He had never really fit in with the drama crowd perfectly, but at least he had fit. Trowa, though, was just too jock for most of that group to accept, which Quatre didn't understand! It wasn't like Trowa played FOOTBALL or some such well-known meat-head sport. But he was an athlete, and a serious one. Trowa was as serious about skating as Quatre used to be about dancing. Quatre understood him so easily, he wanted to be with him all the time…he just wished that it didn't have to be a 'him or us' mentality when it came to his friends. Were they really friends if they couldn't accept him for who he was?

The cell phone rang again, and Quatre flipped it open. It had to be to Trowa this time, "Are you sure you used the right formula?" he said before a hello.

"…Well, HEY, and I thought you'd never get more original than 'city morgue!' for greetings!" A cheery voice bounced, the sounds of a car in the background. But nothing could muffle the voice of his best friend- The one and only Duo Maxwell.

Quatre nearly squealed, "You're BACK!"

"Back in black!" Duo said back, grinning on his end of the phone, "We're getting the hell away from the airport now. Team Lowe brought home GOLD!"

Quatre cheered happily, "That's wonderful!"

"We'll be heading back up to the school now, gonna crash from the jet-lag, and then we'll be ready to rock for Heero's party!"

The voice of Heero could be heard in the car as the phone was yanked away from Duo. Quatre smiled when he heard them fighting over it—and squeals from Relena as she was probably crushed. Those two were terrible! There seemed to be a tickle war being waged in the car, while the coach yelled that he was about to turn the van around if they didn't stop. A few moments later, his cousin's voice came over the line, deep and controlled as always, "Hey, Quatre. How are things there? Who's this boyfriend you e-mailed me about? You said I'd like him?"

Quatre smiled, toying with the pillow, "Yeah, he's really great… You'll get to meet him on Wednesday. I invited him to the party, is that alright?"

"Perfect. Any friend of yours is a friend of mine, Quat."

"And mine!" Relena piped up.

"And MINE!" Duo joined in.

A moment later the conversation went incoherent as the tickle war seemed to rage on. Quatre couldn't help laughing on his end, and kept on laughing even as he was disconnected. A casualty of the war, apparently. He wondered who had won? It didn't really matter, though, since he was just incredibly happy to hear that his friends were coming back to the city. He missed them terribly.

His phone rang for the third time- Trowa probably didn't check the formula- and Quatre looked. It was a text this time, though. From July: "Plz can U ask about that ride for Sat? 3 July!" and he had to laugh. That was what his ballet friends were like… Moody, sure. Princesses? So was he. But they always seemed to get over petty differences and still come out as friends, maybe because they were all so competitive. Quatre hadn't been mad that July picked his brain about Trowa. Actually, he thought it was pretty skillful that she went to him. And he was kinda flattered to be the one she asked for information on Trowa. He couldn't stay mad. But that didn't mean that he was going to ask Trowa to give her a ride!

He responded back with an emote sticking its tongue out and then replied, "Maybe tomorrow." Just to put an end to the texting for tonight. He just wanted to crawl into bed, maybe read for a bit. But apparently that was too much to ask.

The phone went off again. What the hell?! "Hello?!" Quatre asked aghast.

It really was Trowa this time, sounding sheepish, "…Quat? Is this a bad time?"

Quatre laughed, pulling the covers up around himself and crawled into bed despite the disruptions, "No, Tro. What can I do for you?"

"What was your answer to 15b? Cause I got 35. And the back of the book says 17…"

And Quatre laughed, "I got 17."

Trowa sounded frustrated for a moment, probably looking the question over again and again, thinking back to studying with Quatre (studying his tonsils, really) and then tried to remember. Then a sound of recognition, and Trowa's voice was smiling, "I used the wrong formula. Sorry. Goodnight, Quat."

"Goodnight, Trowa," Quatre said, shaking his head. Snuggling with the pillow that still held a little of Trowa's scent, he closed his eyes, and turned in for the night.

* * *

**A/N:** I hope you enjoyed the chapter! The next ones will be coming out within the next few days, all the way to the end.


	14. Chapter 14

**Keep in time: Chapter 14 of 22**

_Dentelle_noir_

**Summary**: AU 3x4. A suspicious accident leaves Trowa without a skating partner, sentencing him to a year without competition. Quatre is an injured dancer, trying to find a way to live without his joy. Together, they make new rules and find a new path.

Note: The next few chapters will be all out in short order, coming soon! Chapter 13 was posted yesterday, so if you missed it, check it out.

**Chapter 14**

The sun was barely waking when Quatre found himself staring at the ceiling, unable to really sleep. Tomorrow he planned to introduce Trowa to his cousin at the party, and he was getting nervous about it. He couldn't go back to sleep if he tried, so he pulled out his cell and texted Trowa, "u awake?"

Within moments, Trowa replied back, "Just out of the shower. Getting ready 4 practice. U?"

Quatre jumped out of bed, tired of being there when he couldn't sleep anyway, and he riffled through his things, finding a pair of warm leggings to slide on under his jeans and a light T-shirt (He planned to snuggle under one of Trowa's sweaters while at the rink—not that Trowa knew that. Not yet anyway. Being devious was so much fun! And dancers knew devious well).

Quatre texted him back, "I'm awake and ready. Pick me up?"

Within fifteen minutes, Trowa's jeep was outside of Quatre's house, with two thermal-mugs of warm coffee waiting in the cup-holders, and the passenger door open for him.

Dimitri didn't react when he saw Quatre there at morning practice, but then again, the large Russian was damn tired and stayed flopped on the benches as he watched Trowa warm up for a few minutes.

Quatre had taken a good lookout spot straddling the boards as he sipped his coffee and snuggled into the warm over-sized sweater that Trowa had dropped on his shoulders the minute they exited the jeep. Good old, predictable Trowa. Quatre loved the smell of his things, especially his morning practice things- whatever shaving lotion Trowa put on in the mornings was always smeared into the collar of his sweaters, and Quatre just loved to smell it.

Trowa's morning warm up was routine, starting with ringing the ice, then turning this way and that, a small spin, then back to ringing. It was like doing laps, really, and Trowa stretched out his arms while doing it. Quatre knew this one pretty well, actually, as Trowa did it at the school rink (which was rapidly becoming a puddle at this time of the year.) Then Quatre hopped over the boards and retrieved his own skates. Dimitri just grunted acquiescence and didn't bother to stop him.

Quatre jumped the boards and raced to catch up with Trowa, sliding up beside him with a smile, and moving into a step-sequence along with Trowa, concentrating on remember the moves, but doing it well, and laughing gently when Trowa GRINNED, "You're remembering!"

Quatre turned around on the skates, and continued to push off, ringing the ice right beside Trowa…flying. It was exactly like flying. He let his arms open, lifting one leg off, letting his body melt into the dance position, and still FLYING.

When he began to slow down, Trowa moved, grabbing his hips gently, pushing off hard and propelling them forward. Dipping himself and taking the same position as Quatre, Trowa moved around the ice so close it was nearly dangerous, but Quatre wasn't worried, and Trowa wasn't frightened. They worked so well together, nearly perfect on the ice.

Trowa brought his leg down and straightened, then brought his hands to Quatre's hips. Immediately Quatre moved to press his arms around Trowa's shoulders, excitement in his eyes. He knew what those body signals meant: UP! Trowa lifted him right off the ice, kicking into a spin that had Quatre whooping for joy, laying back and letting his arms fall open like a flower blooming.

Petra moved down the stairs, holding her enlarging stomach absently, and sat down beside her husband, trying to snag one little sip of his coffee. "If only Quatre was a girl, all our problems would be solved. Competition strictly says 'one lady and one gentleman' and Quatre isn't a lady." She quoted with a sigh and made one more try for his coffee cup with no avail.

Dimitri ran his fingers through her hair, and kissed her temple, "I know, darling, but…perhaps Quatre will agree to be Trowa's training partner. He helps him out a lot, just look…"

On the ice, Quatre was back on his feet, laughing as he demonstrated a third position, holding his arms aloft like a crown, looking more and more like a ballerina. After a moment's hesitation, and feeling a little foolish, Trowa tried it just to make Quatre happy. Then he followed Quatre into a combination position, one arm extended and the other out beside him—a perfect position to reach for his partner… Trowa didn't mind that one so much, and Quatre corrected his angle gently, curving his hand, talking about gentle fingers as Trowa happily did anything just to have Quatre touching him.

Petra laughed, "He's got Trowa wrapped around his little finger! Trowa would never do arm positions for me! I bet if we told Quatre to tell Trowa to skate singl-"

"Don't even say it, Petra" Dimitri grunted, cutting her off, "Don't even jinx it. If Trowa wants to skate with Quatre, at least to practice…don't you think we should let him?"

Petra didn't say anything, but she stood and walked closer to the rink. "Quatre! Come here please, Trowa, it's time to work on your axels again."

Trowa sighed gently, kissing Quatre's temple warmly, then pushed him towards the benches, and jumped up into a crisp single axel, doing one and a half full turns before landing brilliantly.

Quatre glared jealously at Trowa's little move, and he pushed off on his skates, getting the force he needed… If Trowa could do it, so could he! He wasn't going to let Petra take him off the rink without a fight! He skated faster, moving with confidence and drive, and then pushed off the ice, pulling his hands close to his body and turning 360 degrees perfectly.

But he wasn't as practised as Trowa at landing with the cumbersome skates on, and with a gasp of shock his knee buckled under him as he over-balanced, landing in a heap with a growl of frustration.

Trowa was over there in a moment, picking him up, "It's not as easy on skates as it is on your feet!" he chided, "You'll get it! I'll work with you."

Petra waited for Quatre to get over to her, and she motioned him towards the boards, stopping him from exiting the rink. She looked him over appraisingly, tapping her index finger on her chin, "…do you want to learn an axel? Can your foot handle it? Dimitri told me you were injured."

"My toes were badly broken. It makes dancing very hard…But skating… my whole foot works, not just the balls of my foot, and the pressure is even. I like it. It doesn't hurt me…and I like to dance. I NEED to dance." he said quietly, nearly whispering the last bit.

Petra watched the ice, watching Trowa do turn after turn after turn, still doing them well since Quatre was watching. She hummed, "He practices every morning from 6am to school time, and every evening after school."

"I know that, Petra! I'm his boyfriend!" Quatre said with a teasing laugh, "Believe me! He's nearly impossible to spend time with!"

"How'd you like to skate for us? Skate with Trowa as his practice partner? It's not fun, though. It's hard work. You guys can't compete, but. It'd be dance training for you without injuring your foot more." Petra laid it out on the table and watched the blond as he stopped to seriously think about it. She liked that he wasn't one to say no at first to the training! And he worked well with Trowa, well enough to get him back in shape to compete if they ever found another partner for him.

"I need to think about it before I commit." Quatre answered honestly, "Will you let me come to a few of his practices, then decide?"

Petra raked her eyes over him, then nodded once tightly, "Alright. It's a deal. Be here tomorrow at 5am. I'm sure Trowa will pick you up." And with that, she turned and walked away, smiling to her husband when only he was looking.

Dimitri grinned, a little mischievous twinkle in his eye, "Oh, but you get to tell Cathy."

* * *

The practice had kicked Quatre's ass with a vengeance… it had been murder just to sit down in class after the 6am boot camp of practices. Dimitri insisted that Quatre be treated like the professional athlete that he was, and that meant that Quatre was doing jumps all morning. He hadn't landed ONCE.

After a while, they switched to doing pairs elements, where Trowa would pick Quatre up, then launch him into the air. Those were successful, only because Trowa was very good at catching him and gently putting him down onto the ice before they flowed into the next element. Actually, it was a blast. Quatre could barely wait for the afternoon practice to do it more!

On the way to school, Trowa had bought him a non-fat hot cocoa in celebration of Quatre's accomplishments, but he'd been suspiciously quiet ever since.

Trowa looked upset about something. But he wasn't saying anything to Quatre.

Unfortunately, they didn't have any classes together until gym, and Trowa hadn't returned a text yet. Quatre was starting to think that Trowa didn't want to skate with him… Or worse, that he had some crazy idea that skating partners- even if they couldn't compete together- shouldn't be dating each other.

He began to worry about that more and more as he revived texts from other friends-- One from Heero reminding him to bring plastic cups to the party tonight, and one from Jason asking what movie he wanted to see on Thursday, but nothing from Trowa.

During second period, he worked out a plan to find out for sure. They had a new routine for lunch times, and Quatre planned to ask him then.

It had started out innocently, with it raining when they had been eating outside and Trowa suggesting that they run to his car to finish lunch… and then they ended up in the back seat all lunch period with their hands down each other's pants- that was, until they had the window knocked on by a teacher and only Quatre's charm got they out of a detention.

Since then they had found that the gym changing room was the perfect location for elicit affairs. The coach usually locked it, but with the classes all doing outdoor lessons, he had slackened. And all they had to do was wait until their classmates left and then they could duck back in and go straight to the back. No one was the wiser.

And for a week straight Quatre and Trowa had managed to slip in unnoticed during lunch, hands all over each other and tongues down each other's throat. Quatre usually led them towards the back, to the shower-stalls, walking backwards into it, guiding Trowa by the lapels to crash their lips together, and then Trowa would yank the curtain closed and they were in their own little world with each other, using tongues and hands to make the other moan, a quiet competition always to see who gave out and came first.

Today was no different, and Trowa pinned his lover to the cold cement wall and popped Quatre's button, wanting to get inside and touch him, wanting to make him moan, desperate to hear him groan him name. Quatre hissed in pleasure, his hands fisting into Trowa's shirt hard, his head thrown back in pleasure and his breath coming fast, desperate for more… There was something different in his eyes though as he watched Trowa, thinking about something else…something other then what Trowa was doing to his cock… Maybe he was right to worry. Trowa didn't want to skate with him.

Quatre licked his lips…and outright asked him, "Do you want me to skate with you? Yes or no, Trowa. I won't be mad."

Trowa laughed brightly, kissing Quatre hotly, moaning against his neck as his grip tightened around Quatre's member, showing him just how much he wanted him. Quatre laughed, his eyes dancing in pleasure…and then he groaned, nails digging into Trowa's shoulders as his body shook in pleasure, his blood pumped, and then he was screaming Trowa's name as he spilled all over Trowa's hand. Panting, Quatre shuddered in aftershocks against the shower-stall wall, holding Trowa tightly, smiling in bliss.

Trowa laughed playfully, and bent over to nibble his neck, "You lost," he purred hungrily, his body pressing Quatre into the wall and grinding against him from shoulders to knees, his still very-neglected cock poking Quatre's hips.

The blonde wrapped his arms around Trowa's neck, and then slid down his chest, then down and down. Trowa could feel himself aching for it by now, nearly begging Quatre to stroke him just a little-- GOD he could feel his brain short-circuiting just waiting. Quatre's dainty fingers popped the button on his pants and lowered the zipper, every second making Trowa moan harder, his body trembling in desire, "Please Quat…" he begged breathily.

"Do you want me to skate with you?" Quatre asked again, his whisper echoing in the shower stall, making Trowa look him right in the eye. As if it wasn't obvious?!

"Yes, Quatre. I want you to be my partner. My partner, in everything," Trowa whispered back sincerely, letting Quatre hear in words what Trowa said every time he touched the blonde.

"What about Cathy?" Quatre asked again.

"Cathy isn't skating! I just want to skate with you!" Trowa said sincerely, and growled a little in repressed need. Quatre's hands had stopped stroking when they started talking, and while Quatre had gotten off, Trowa was left still aching hard and with precious few minutes of privacy left before the next gym class came in and caught them. "All I want is you, Quatre," he groaned.

Quatre seemed pleased, very very pleased, and he let his hands slide down Trowa's chest, "You're the best," he said, leaning in and kissing him hotly, his tongue pressing inside the taller boy's mouth and exploring, surprising Trowa was his little show of dominance- but FUCK it was hot. "Are you coming tonight? To my cousin's party?" he asked with a growling, hungry voice that Trowa hadn't heard before.

"Yeah. Yeah you want me there, I'll be there. I might be a bit late…" Trowa panted. Quatre smiled.

Then suddenly, Quatre's hands were tugging his pants down, and he dropped to his knees. Quatre shoved Trowa back against the tiled side of the shower. The sudden display of aggression made Trowa's knees go weak in desire. Then his world went white.

Trowa moaned so hard he felt like the world shook as Quatre took his cock into his hot, eager mouth, making Trowa's hands fist in Quatre's hair. Holy HELL they hadn't done THAT before! And Quatre was there, licking him like a lollipop and sucking him deep, hollowing out his cheeks and bobbing somewhat clumsily, but SO GOOD.

He couldn't keep up with everything that his gorgeous little boyfriend was doing to him, and he let out a keening moan, curling a little around Quatre and digging his nails in tight before exploding down his throat. The blonde cleaned him right off, and pulled off of him, kissing the head of his cock gently, affectionately. Smirking.

Trowa shook, feeling his insides vibrating and his knees barely holding him up, "Oh fuck baby," he groaned, leaning up against the shower stall in order to stay standing.

Quatre stood, moving to the edge of the shower stall, licking his lips to clean the mess off with a wicked smirk. "Try not to be late," he teased and left the room with a Mona Lisa smile and a flick of his hips, leaving Trowa there to pick up the scattered fragments of his blown mind and make it out of the locker room before he was busted fooling around with his boyfriend in school.

No… His new skating partner.

Everything was absolutely perfect. He was with a guy he really cared about. He got to do what he loved. Perhaps they couldn't compete together, but with Quatre he could skate until he found someone he could compete with. And he did it all without Cathy's help.

From where Trowa stood (still leaning against the shower stall with a goofy grin) things couldn't get any better than this.

Now, all he needed to do was keep things like that.

* * *

Sleepy, but excited, Quatre awoke as his alarm went off at promptly 4am. He rolled out of bed and dragged himself into the shower. He decided to dress like Trowa, and put on his dance pants and a T-shirt, throwing a tight-fitting ultramarine sweater overtop, just because he knew that he wasn't used to working in the rink temperatures and wanted to impress the coaches, not show up bugging Trowa for his sweater because he liked the smell. Socks and shoes on, and skates in hand, Quatre met Trowa outside his door before the skater had to ring the bell and wake Iria.

They began while still in the dressing room, stretching out over the benches, bending and moving. Quatre knew just about all the movements already, and within a few minutes he was feeling ready to go. They walked sock-footed to the stands, then laced up their boots as close to the rink as possible. Trowa said that he didn't want to dull his blades any quicker than needed, and then they were on the rink.

Starting circuits, Quatre could see Dimitri and Petra moving about in their office, pouring cups of coffee and waking. Apparently they trusted Trowa to warm up without them? It was rather refreshing to see coaches trusting their pupils so completely-- Quatre remembered a few of his dance instructors that wouldn't even let their students breathe without being expressly told. Trowa's voice wafted over the quiet of the morning ice, "Ready for a little challenge? We're going to ring twice, then we're going to turn backwards at the north corner and keep going-- just follow my lead, and you'll pick up the choreography easily," he said, beginning to move, sound starting to pump out of the speakers when Trowa flicked the remote.

Trowa hadn't been kidding, it was simple to follow him, the movements were almost natural, and just following behind Trowa and knowing the song, he was nearly in sync with the pattern of front-back turns. Dimitri straddled the boards like usual, and began to bark out motions, watching Trowa have to teach Quatre basically what each word meant, but watching as the blonde took to it, remembered the movement, and always threw in a little something extra to match the beat of the music. Dimitri just hoped that Quatre would stay, because when both he and Trowa broke choreography to shimmy with the song, Dimitri knew it was a match made for the Hall of Fame.


	15. Chapter 15

**Keep in Time**

_Dentelle_noir_

**Summary**: AU 3x4. A suspicious accident leaves Trowa without a skating partner, sentencing him to a year without competition. Quatre is an injured dancer, trying to find a way to live without his joy. Together, they make new rules and find a new path.

**Chapter 15**

_"On my way!_ _Sry!!"_ Trowa texted on his cell while waiting at a red light, kicking himself the whole time.

He should have kept a better eye on the time, but he had been doing so well at his afternoon practice! He was now nearly half an hour late for Quatre's cousin's birthday and his only excuse was a killer axel!

At least, he consoled himself, he had warned Quatre he might be late… but after Quatre had been so adamant about Trowa being there he felt like a bastard being late. Quatre had been reminding him for days about the party, and while Trowa was looking forward to being with Quatre, he was not looking forward to going to the Lowe rink. He didn't think he ever mentioned that the Lowe skaters were Trowa's most hated rivals.

As far as Trowa was concerned, the spoiled rich brat skaters at the Lowe Rink were cheating slime balls. He avoided even speaking their name in public conversation. He was perfectly content pretending that Heero fucking Yuy did not exist in his city. He had a hard enough time trying not to rip his throat out when they met in the dressing rooms of a competition, but once or twice Trowa had met him waiting in line for a movie or perusing the shelves at the local skate supply store and it was a glaring match each time.

They never once came to blows, and both were able to completely block out the other's presence- unless Relena the queen bitchess was there and goaded Trowa into something. He hated her almost more than he hated Yuy, but that was justified. She had hurt Cathy. Everyone knew it! It had to be her! Trowa nearly went ballistic on Relena after Cathy's "accident", but she and her partner had fucked off to an international competition right after and tending to Cathy had been more important than revenge. Relena and Yuy was even cocky enough to send Cathy a beautiful vase of flowers to the hospital! Trowa tossed them out and nearly went after him then.

Dimitri thought Trowa hated Yuy so much out of jealousy. Which was ridiculous! Trowa was not jealous. He had more medals that Yuy (although, their last two wins during his and Cathy's hiatus put them dangerously close). He had more talent. He had a better coach. And while Yuy, perhaps, had a much bigger fan club, and more advertisements, and sponsorships, and better facilities, and more ice time, and a hot tub in the locker room, that didn't mean a THING and it didn't bother Trowa at all. Nope. Not one whit. Trowa was taller too. And Heero Yuy couldn't throw money at it all he wanted, but Trowa would always be taller, so HA on Heero fucking Yuy for that one. He was not jealous.

Trowa parked outside the sports center, grabbed his duffle and grudgingly walked through the big shiny doors. Damn-near everything shined in the Lowe rink; it looked brand new. The concrete was still smooth and bright, the lobby carpets crisp, and all along the walls were bright posters advertising hockey teams, curling tournaments, and of COURSE, the upcoming charity skating gala—which he had never been invited to participate in before, despite being a champion skater. No, he didn't go to the prestigious private school, so he was overlooked whenever they put together charity events in favor of Team Lowe. They were the private school's big name stars, really. While the private academy also had champion soccer and baseball teams, it was Team Lowe that always made the recruitment posters.

Trowa didn't even want to be IN this rink, to be honest. All around him were the framed pictures of Team Lowe's impressive string of medals. But he did take heart in knowing that every time he saw Heero fucking Yuy and Princess Relena holding a second place trophy in a picture, he knew that he, Trowa Barton, was holding that year's gold in his own set of pictures. Every time Trowa failed, the Lowe's brought home gold, and whenever the Lowe's couldn't catch up to Trowa and Cathy's skill, they had to settle for silver. Trowa's team had won MORE gold than team Lowe, but because Lowe's rink had the money to burn on advertising, Heero Yuy and Relena Darlain were like celebrities, while he and Cathy only seemed to get any respect on the ice. It was infuriating to say the least.

He put his anger behind him, though, and went to find the changing rooms. Quatre was waiting for him and Quatre had nothing to do with his rivalry with Heero Yuy or Team Lowe. Trowa had even been careful not to ever mention it so that Quatre never had to worry about it. Quatre didn't have anything to do with which rink was booked, so he just had to suck it up… but that didn't stop him from punching the hot tub on his way past. Pansies. **He** didn't need a hot tub in his change rooms to win.

Since Trowa didn't trust his gear unattended in Lowe Territory he continued through and went out to the rink, breathing in the comforting sounds and smells of the ice. He heard a bright, merry laugh and for a moment thought it was Quatre, but it was a little girl walking passed him with bright blonde hair up in pigtails, laughing as another girl with the same hair chased her around the outside of the rink. She was wearing ballet tights and her bun was coming loose from the exertion, leaving wispy blonde strands falling all around her round, cherubic face. This was definitely Quatre's family… Trowa couldn't stop the smile from tugging at his cheeks. He was in a bad mood because of being at the Lowe rink, but he couldn't stay like that, knowing that he'd get to see Quatre soon and skate with him in his arms.

He put his gear down on a bench and pulled out his boots—he tied them up in a heartbeat and pulled off the skate-guards and put them on top of his coat for easy-access. He had only been off the ice for the drive to the Lowe rink, so he was already dressed in Quatre's favorite outfit: Black long-sleeved body suit and thin, black, water-resistant jazz pants that he wore slung low on his hips and covering all the way down to the tops of his black practice skates. Quatre always drooled when Trowa bent the right ways wearing that.

From the stands, Iria waved brightly and Trowa waved back, moving towards the gate to get onto the ice and find his boyfriend.

He pushed off from the gate and scanned the skaters. Quatre must have had a billion cousins, and a lot of them were blonde, but he noticed that a great deal were Asian, making a very unusual scene. Maybe Quatre's family married into an Asian family?

He moved with the flow of skaters, looking around, peeking through couples and trying to find Quatre. He spotted Iria again, and she took pity on him and began to point. Behind him?

Trowa turned, hoping to see Quatre…. And instead he saw a picture from his nightmares.

Heero. Fucking. YUY! He was right there, as brash as could be, showing off a simple step sequence to some youngsters.

And then right behind Heero came two hands, sliding around the skater's waist and tugging him back—little purple mittens that Trowa knew too well wrapping around him in a hug. Then Heero turned around and fucking put his arms around slim hips and lifted.

And there was NO mistake after that.

Quatre laughed brightly, holding onto Heero's shoulders as Trowa's rival pushed off into a spin. Quatre was letting Heero fucking Yuy spin him. Letting him TOUCH him. And laughing in delight as he did it! Trowa wanted to throw up. This couldn't be real! Did Quatre know what the hell he was doing? Who that was! Trowa had to get him out of here NOW!

Just then, another screech started from the area of the stands, and 'Princess of the ice' Relena Darlian stood in fury, her face twisted in anger and she pointed at Trowa. "GET OFF OUR ICE, BARTON!"

It was like one of those movie-moments, where everything suddenly stops and everyone stares. But this was no movie, and Trowa was not laughing.

"TROWA BARTON!" Heero growled with venom. He put Quatre down onto the ice abruptly and skated in front of him as if to protect him from some threat. "Who the fuck invited YOU here?"

Trowa FUMED, staring at Heero's arm, holding Quatre back. And then his temper went through the roof, "Get your hands off my boyfriend, Yuy!" Trowa growled like a wild animal.

And everything exploded from there.

Relena had taken to the rink, her little pink princess outfit contrasting with her ugly snarl. She stomped her foot and moved to get between Heero and the invader, hissing "This is our rink! You have no business here!"

Trowa glared, wanting to rip her throat out! That little bitch was going to go DOWN!, "And you had no business fucking with my sister's SKATE you little bitch! It's your fault she got hurt!"

Relena's nostril's flared and her temper soared, "I never touched your sister's things! I don't need to cheat to win! Unlike HER! How DARE you say shit like that in my rink! GET OUT!"

He wanted to. Wanted to get over to Quatre (who was looking at the girl in shock, as if she'd grown a second head), grab him, and get out happily. But he couldn't get near him.

A boy that Trowa recognized from Quatre's computer screen (Duo? His best friend?) came out of nowhere and shoved Trowa into the boards with a snarl, flying past him to wrap his arms around Quatre protectively, glaring at Trowa, "You aren't WELCOME HERE, Barton!"

Quatre tried to wriggle out of Duo's hands, his eyes wide, looking aghast, but as soon as he got loose, Heero came around to pull Quatre against his chest, holding him there and growled at Trowa. Heero looked ready to take Trowa down with his bare hands if need be, but he wasn't backing down! Heero made a move to attack, but Quatre moved in front of him, putting his hands on Yuy's chest to hold him back, trying to settle him. As if they were friends.

Or lovers! Everyone knew Heero was gay! Quatre was fucking around with Yuy when he was supposed to be with him! He couldn't even THINK straight, he was too angry!

Trowa's temper couldn't take this! And instead of Quatre trying to get over to Trowa, he looked imploringly at Yuy. He left his arms around him. He was perfectly comfortable hugging him. Hugging Heero Fucking Yuy! Quatre was holding Heero Yuy trying to calm him down instead of coming over to Trowa.

Trowa lost it, and the words just tumbled out in a barrage of anger, "YOU FUCKING LITTLE SLUT!" His eyes were glued to Heero's hand around Quatre's waist, his head replaying the scene of Quatre in Heero's arms, laughing and spinning and hugging. If he hadn't been interrupted, would they have been kissing a moment later? He thought Quatre actually cared about him! For ONCE he thought someone fucking cared about him, and not his fame, but apparently he was wrong. Quatre was no different than all the girls Cathy warned him about.

Quatre pushed out of Heero's arms and FINALLY skated closer to Trowa, looking hurt and upset, "It's not LIKE that, Trowa! He's my COUSIN! The one I was telling you about?! And Duo's my best friend!"

The one he was telling him about?! Trowa was supposed to take that?! It never once occurred to Quatre that being related to Heero FUCKING Yuy might be a problem?! And Quatre had the nerve to look at Trowa as if he was the one at fault! Trowa knew he hadn't mentioned Yuy around Quatre, but why hadn't Quatre ever mentioned that Heero YUY was his cousin! There was only one reason he wouldn't have…

"You're a fucking spy!" Trowa spat, feeling even more hurt. Not only was he used, he was used as part of some strategy game? Quatre was just playing along to get information on him? That was it? He really thought Quatre cared about him! But obviously he was wrong. Dead wrong! "They all said you were! Dimitri, Petra, Cathy—Cathy was RIGHT about you! And I let you convince me she was wrong. I listened to you!"

"I'm not a SPY!" Quatre huffed, stomping his skated foot to accentuate his point, even as his face reddened. Half in embarrassment and half in fury. "I'm not like that! I thought you would get along! Talk shop and all that! You're causing a scene!" Quatre hissed the last bit, skating closer to Trowa, trying to calm him down. Trying to touch him. Trying to reason with him, "Let's get out of here and we'll talk about it, okay?!"

"I fucking stood UP for you!" Trowa tossed back. He wrenched out of Quatre's grip, skating backwards. His fury was stoked so hot that his eyes burned and he had to wipe tears from the corners of his eyes, not letting them fall, "And you were with HIM this whole TIME! And I fell for it! Fucking gullible Trowa! I fell for it so fucking hard… I thought you actually… FUCK YOU!"

Quatre's eyes burned and he glared, gnashing his teeth to keep from saying something biting back. It wouldn't help the situation. Quatre took a deep breath, and reached out for Trowa again. Managing to get a hold of his sleeve this time, Quatre put his arm on Trowa's shoulder, "Okay, calm down Trowa.. please… I fucked up. I should have told you. I- I didn't think it would be like this… I thought you'd be happy to meet him, I thought it would be a nice surprise… I was wrong. Obviously. Let's just get out of here…" he pleaded.

Trowa began to settle, Quatre's touch working it's magic… letting his head clear a little…

But he didn't have time to think things through before Duo skated up behind them, glaring at Trowa with venom, "Get your hands off Quatre, Barton!" and then he touched Quatre's shoulder, pulling him back, whispering in his ear (loudly), "He's a fucking Barton! What are you doing hanging out with that trash!?"

Trowa saw red, and he pushed forward with his fist raised, ready to pummel that braided loudmouth into the ICE!

Quatre was fast, though, and he pushed Duo out of the way, "Trowa! STOP IT!" he yelled, pushing Duo further away. But the damage had already been done. Trowa had aimed the first punch.

Heero was on him in seconds, smashing his fist into Trowa's face to protect Duo, and Trowa retaliated with a vicious uppercut to Heero's stomach. The two of them went down onto the ice HARD, clawing, punching and kicking. Trowa got a great shot, smashing his fists into Heero's cheek to pay him back for earlier before he was grabbed by at least four fully-grown men and yanked off. Heero stood a second later, his glare so hot it could bend steel.

Quatre stood in the middle of the two, torn between helping his lover or helping his cousin, and that split second of hesitation was all Trowa needed to know. Quatre was on Yuy's side and would always be.

"I'm LEAVING," Trowa growled—Relena cheered, howling a very unlady-like 'good riddance' behind him. Trowa shouldered his way out of the men's arms and pushed off the ice like a bullet, hopping off the rink and onto the floor, grabbing his things in record time and tossing a pair of slip on shoes onto his feet before half the crowd even knew what was going on.

Even before his red-hot anger could melt away, he could feel his heart shattering. Oh god… How could he turn on Quatre? His Quatre? But god, how could he be so in love with a guy who sided with Heero YUY! He couldn't handle it! He couldn't handle seeing Quatre looking so upset. But he had to get out of there before he lost it again.

Grabbing his bag, Trowa lifted it over his shoulders and turned, shaking all over in anger and hurt, staring at Quatre… oh god… his Quatre… He was crying. He had to give him one chance… Cathy would call him weak for even that. She would have walked out and shredded Relena's costume on the way… but Trowa couldn't just leave Quatre like that. Not Quatre. "Y-you're with them, or you're with me!"

Quatre went pale, "Wha… I.. I… they're my FAMILY! You can't ask me to choose! Let's talk about this, Trowa!" But how could Trowa believe him when he was right there, dabbing a tissue to Heero Yuy's bloody lip.

That was it. Trowa's lip curled up, baring his teeth like a wounded animal, and he got out of there as fast as he could. He couldn't take it! No more! Trowa's chest tightened and his stomach twisted so tight he could feel his protein shake coming up his esophagus, but he didn't stop. Didn't turn around. Couldn't! He went straight into his Jeep and peeled out of the parking lot, hardly obeying traffic laws as he aimed for home, trying not to let his tears blur his vision.

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Quatre wrapped his arms around Heero's neck and buried his face in his shoulder, sobbing until he was cried out. He didn't know what else to do.

He screwed up. Badly. He screwed up so badly he couldn't even figure out what went so wrong. He rewound every conversation he ever had with Trowa about his cousin or about the party, and he thought he must have mentioned his name before. But he couldn't remember ever having done it. And Trowa never mentioned anything about competing against Heero.

How could he choose Trowa over his family? Over his cousin? His best friend? How could they ask him to? He and Heero had been friends since they were both wearing footie pajamas. Heero had joined skating the same year Quatre joined ballet. He'd been his best friend. How could he choose Trowa over that? Why should he have to! Other than Trowa -who obviously didn't know him as well as Quatre thought he did- Heero and Duo were the only people who knew who he really was. He didn't have to pretend to be somebody else to stay friends with them. They had his back, through thick and thin.

And if Trowa couldn't understand that… Maybe they were better off without each other.

* * *

TBC

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**Notes:** I hope that long-awaited party scene, and the introduction of Heero to Trowa, was up to everyone's standards! More is coming, so keep tuned!

Also, don't forget to review! Press the big green button in the middle! I love a review, even if it's as simple as "I was here" I'd love to hear from you.


	16. Chapter 16

**Keep In Time**

**By: **_Dentelle_Noir_

AU 3x4 A suspicious accident leaves Trowa without a skating partner, sentencing him to a year without competition. Quatre is an injured dancer, trying to find a way to live without his joy. Together, they make new rules and find a new path. NC-17

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**Chapter 16**

"Cathy, you were right," Trowa said, sitting on the couch, curled up in an afghan at her feet as she hung up the phone and picked it up again, trying to arrange a ride for the party tonight. He absently touched her walking cast… it would be coming off soon, and then she could maybe skate again. If she'd take him back.

"What now?" Cathy asked, the phone in hand, about to dial someone else.

"You were right. About Quatre being a spy…" Trowa said again, looking miserable.

"I know. You told me already. Cried your eyes out on the kitchen floor like a baby about it. I called Petra. What else do you want me to do? Rock you to sleep or something?" She answered sarcastically and dialed again, getting an answer finally, just to pout when the answer was no. Only then did she look at Trowa.

"You can drive me to the party, right Trowa?" It was framed as a question, but there was no question. It was an order, "And you can come pick me up when I'm done if I'm coming home. I might stay out if Jeff's parents aren't home."

Trowa hugged the afghan tighter. "Do… Do you have to go out tonight, Cathy? We can stay here…watch some of those movies you're always talking about… I'll go buy us popcorn if you want… Or order Pizza? My treat…"

Cathy huffed, "No, Trowa! I'm not staying home with you during _the_ party of the week! It'll be the last good one until those prep-school bitches throw that party on Saturday."

Trowa found an opening, "I heard Relena will be at the school-merging party," He said, desperate to keep Cathy talking. He didn't want to be left alone. He hated being alone. What had he been thinking, telling off Cathy? He thought he could do things as long as he had Quatre by his side, but he was wrong. He was wrong on so many levels… He needed Cathy.

She grimaced, "GOD, I know! I should do something nasty to that little cheating bitch. I should beat her over the head with the cast she gave me."

Trowa nodded solemnly. He suspected it for a while now… the only people who had benefited from Cathy's injury were Team Lowe. Who else would have slit Cathy's skate? It had to have been Relena, or Heero. And that meant that he could blame all of this on Team Lowe.

It was their fault Cathy was hurt. It was their fault he couldn't compete. It was their fault he had to deal with July. It was them who had thrown Quatre into his midst as a spy. And it was their fault he felt like his insides had been ripped out. He didn't even want to move. Didn't want to think. Didn't want to eat. Didn't even want to skate. He would have been fine just curling up on his bed for days. He was done playing the skating game. The politics, the sponsors, and the practices, and the diet, and the backstabbing, and never having a moment to do what he wanted to do, and the pressure to win, and the competition! It never ended! He would never be free of it!

"Alright, Trowa, get up. Come on." Cathy said, pushing him by the shoulder.

Trowa blinked slowly, "…to get the popcorn?"

"No, you dumb ass! To bring me to the party! I'm not staying here with you!"

Trowa felt sick to his stomach all over again, "…come on, Cathy… Please? Just one night… like old times. Everything'll be back to normal soon. You're going to get your cast off in a few more days. I'm not with Quatre anymore. We can skate again. It'll be just like before… Stay home with me." He grabbed her arm and held her there, "Please, Cathy?"

Cathy shook her head vehemently, "No way! You're getting all freaky and clingy again, Trowa! Fuck! No wonder the other skaters say shit about you! Get away from me! Half the skating community thinks we're sleeping together because of the way you're so friggan dependent on me! I pick out your fucking CLOHTES still, for Christ's sakes! Get a life! Don't touch me anymore! Ever!"

Trowa felt like he'd been punched, letting his hand fall away, "I- I don't! I'm gay! You're my sister! We're partners! I need you!"

"Stop SAYING that shit, Trowa! Grow up! You're 17 years old!"

Frustrated, hurt, and upset, Trowa turned away, glaring at the wall, "I wish that accident had never fucking happened! Things wouldn't be so messed up if you had just kept skating with me!"

"HA! This has been the BEST THING that's ever happened to me!" Cathy howled, getting up off the couch, swiveling on her cast as he glared at Trowa, "I FINALLY got some fucking FREEDOM! And I got YOU off my back! I have friends! And a boyfriend! I'm POPULAR! Don't you get that?! I'm invited to all the parties! I'm in on all the jokes, and I wear the latest clothes! Other girls WISH they were me! I'm glad I did it! Now get up and drive me to the party, then leave me the FUCK alone!"

Trowa frowned, "…did what?"

Cathy was too angry to pause. Too far gone to think. She wanted to get to that party, and she had to get through Trowa to get there. "Slit the skate, you dumbass! Do you think I was stupid enough to just leave my gear out where anyone could find it?! We know better than that!"

"Why- What?" Trowa gasped, jaw dropping as he searched his sister's face, "Why would you do that?!"

Cathy rolled her eyes and scoffed, "Wake up the smell the Coffee, Trowa! Team Lowe had us at that competition! Relena nailed the double twist lift! You KNOW I couldn't! You KNOW even if we skated our best, we'd be a few points behind! I won't be second fiddle, Trowa!" Cathy spat, "I couldn't stand knowing that the press would be all over her! They get press and publicity all the time because their rink's better than ours! I had to get our name out somehow, didn't I?! What's better than a scandal!"

"You broke your leg on PURPOSE!? How the fuck COULD you?!"

Cathy smacked him upside the head, growling, "I didn't break my leg on purpose! I slit the skate! I was going to turn it in after the competition and give my story about how our routine was ruined! YOU were supposed to fucking CATCH me! You always caught me in practice if I went off course! It was just bad timing that the seam gave way when we were doing our side-by-side step sequence! Bad timing that turned out to be great. Because I finally got rid of YOU for a while!" She hissed.

The phone rang, and Cathy hobbled over, normal as could be, and picked it up, smiling and nodding excitedly. She hung up a moment later, and flicked her curly red hair over her shoulder dismissively, "I have a ride. You just sit there and be pathetic for a while longer. I have a party to go to. I'll call you if I need a ride home."

Trowa's whole world was crumbling down. Everything. Everything he though he cared about was wrenched out from under him… and Cathy was going to a party. Cathy was checking her make-up in the foyer mirror and making sure she had condoms in her purse… And he sat on the couch… curled around an afghan and wondering what the fuck happened.

He didn't even hear her leave, but she must have. He didn't remember if getting dark, either, but when Trowa snapped out of his stupor, it was pitch black outside.

But he was done 'sitting on the couch, being pathetic'. He didn't need Cathy. And he didn't need Quatre. All he needed was to skate.

He grabbed his skates and headed outside, his MP3 player in hand, trying to find a song that suited his mood. But when he got out there, he stepped into a pool instead of a rink. Soccer season was nearing, apparently. His rink was unusable.

He considered dropping to the ground and crying himself to sleep outside in the middle of March, but he had already run out of tears. He grabbed his gear, throwing it over his shoulder, and stomped to his car, tossing his bag in the back and climbing in the front. He put the pedal to the metal, and headed to the rink. He had to think. And to think, he had to skate.

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It was nearly eleven, and Dimitri had to drag his sleepy self to Hadford's for Petra's favorite ice cream. She wouldn't stop bugging him! She had pestered and groaned and rubbed her pregnant belly, and told Dimitri that his child wanted the ice cream. It wasn't her fault! It was the baby!

Dimitri couldn't say no to the baby, much less his wife, so, he climbed into the car and drove to Hadford's for Pertra's favorite flavor, walking in RIGHT as the teen worker was turning the sign. She might have been angry at the last-minute customer, but Dimitri was thrilled to get the tub of ice cream into a bag and out the door.

The street was deserted as usual, and one of the lamp posts was broken. That was really the only reason that he noticed the light coming from his rink. It was a few blocks away from Hadford's, but he knew what it was supposed to look like. And the lights inside were definitely on.

Thinking that Petra (or himself, but he didn't want to admit that) had forgotten to turn them off when they left a few hours ago, he resigned himself to driving over there as the ice cream melted.

He pulled into the lot, though, and noticed a familiar jeep parked at the side door. The door that Trowa had a key for.

Dimitri silently hoped that Petra had fallen asleep, because he had a sinking suspicion that he wasn't going to be back home with that ice cream for a while.

He walked into the rink, using his own keys to open the side door. He was grateful that Trowa at least had the peace of mind to lock it behind himself. He didn't want to open up tomorrow to find out that his skater had been mugged in his own rink or anything, even though he was sure Trowa could hold his own under normal circumstances; it wasn't normal that Trowa was out skating this late at night. He had to get up for practice in five hours. He should have been sleeping hours ago. He could only assume he was troubled about the break-up. Cathy had gloated to Petra about it, but Dimitri knew that it boded ill for Trowa. He shouldn't have been surprised to find him at the rink, actually.

Dimitri took his usual spot, straddling the boards. He put the ice cream down on the side of the rink, hoping the ice would keep it nice and frozen, prolonging it's life a little longer.

He waited until Trowa noticed him. But it took a while. The boy had his MP3 player on so loud that Dimitri could hear it clearly, even though Trowa wore headphones today. He was skating hard, doing loops, and tricks, and jumps just to work off his energy and frustration. Dimitri could even seen marks in the ice from laps. Finally Trowa moved by him, and startled, jumping so bad that he lost balance and fell to his ass on the ice, legs sprawled in front of him and eyes blinking.

He pulled out his headphones, looking at his coach. "…hey Dimitri…."

"Boyshka," he responded back evenly, then smiled softly. "You're sweaty. You ready for break." He said, then patted the boards across from him, "Sit. Tell me. It's about the boy, right?"

Trowa got to his feet, and hopped up on the boards, dangling one foot over the ice and the other over the cement. He sighed, and looked at his hands, twiddling his thumbs, then began to chew on his nail a little, kicking his legs back and forth absently. Dimitri waited. And waited. And waited.

Finally Trowa sighed, "It's not just about Quatre. It's about Cathy too. Quatre doesn't want me. Cathy doesn't want me. The only thing I have left is skating."

"That's ridiculous, boyshka!" Dim scoffed, his deep voice echoing around the deserted rink, "I don't know what happened with the boy, but I don't think he meant to trick you. I think he liked you. The way he looked at you? You can't fake that."

Trowa bit on his nail a little more, and stared at the ice, "You didn't see the way he looked at Heero. You can't fake that either." He grunted, mumbled by his thumb.

Dimitri pulled Trowa's hand away, looking at it. "You're biting it down to nothing, Boy! That's enough, now."

Trowa put his hand in his lap, trying not to nibble on it more… He wasn't succeeding.

Dimitri weighed the consequences…. And even though it wasn't worth it, he did it anyway. Picking up the ice cream, he hoped off the boards, "Come upstairs," he coaxed, and then walked up the stands towards his and Petra's office.

Trowa followed a few minutes later, taking a second to take off his skates and slip on a pair of shoes to follow his coach.

Dimitri grabbed two spoons from the kitchenette he and Petra had in their office, and then tugged Trowa into the upstairs practice room. They had a small dance floor for skaters to practice lifts without the added danger of ice and skates, and some comfortable chairs and a couch. They even got a little TV in there, too, using it for a break room so the dancers could eat their lunches, or work on homework when they had breaks between practices.

When they got up there, Trowa immediately kicked his shoes off and curled up on the couch, putting a pillow around his middle so he could hug it.

Having coached Trowa for years, Dimitri had learned what he needed. Just touching Trowa relaxed him immediately. He kicked his shoes off too, sitting on the other side of the couch then moving, shifting, and kicking until he got Trowa's legs out from under him and made him put them in Dimitri's lap, while Dimitri put his legs a little under Trowa. Like a charm, Trowa relaxed visibly, and smiled tightly at his coach, "I hope you don't mind me coming here so late…"

Dimitri cracked open the ice cream tub and handed Trowa a spoon, digging in while he sat with Trowa, just letting him know someone still cared at least. And he let Trowa talk, and talk, and talk. Then he stroked Trowa's hair as he cried, pulling him into his lap and letting him fall asleep there, exhausted mentally and physically.

Pinned to the couch, Dimitri had the next few hours until he had to get up and open the rink to figure out some way to explain to Petra what happened to her ice cream…

He decided on hiding the evidence. Yes… Hiding was good.

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AN: One more chapter! This is 16 out of 22 total, so hold on, because the rest are coming! Thank you all so much for the reviews! I love them! Don't ever be afraid to leave something small, the word "yay" or just anything to let the author know that you're still reading and enjoying! Thank you all!


	17. Chapter 17

**Keep in Time**

_Dentelle_noir_

**Summary:** AU 3x4. A suspicious accident leaves Trowa without a skating partner, sentencing him to a year without competition. Quatre is an injured dancer, trying to find a way to live without his joy. Together, they make new rules and find a new path.

AN: Dedicated to tUrNtOfAcEtHiSwAy who just begged that I get a new chapter out before the beginning of school for her, before her computer time was taken away so callously. Here you go!

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**Chapter 17**

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"Are you high?"

Trowa blinked his eyes open, peering at the semi-familiar voice asking him that question. He felt like hell. His body ached… and his foot had somehow wedged itself into the couch arm and was currently stuck. Wonderful. He wiggled it to get it out, but his arm was protesting the movement for some reason. Where the hell was he and how the hell did he wind up like this?

"Seriously, Trowa. I know you aren't competing this season, but they take hair samples! They'll know if you were on drugs, like, years later! What are you doing to yourself? You look like hell!"

Trowa focused his eyes to the voice, surprised to see July leaned over top of him, looking over him with distaste. She grabbed his knee and tugged, dislodging his foot from the couch's grasp and putting it down on the floor. Trowa slowly sat up, groaning in pain as his body protested sleeping for so little time on such a crappy bed. He was in the practice room atop Petra's rink… he remembered Dimitri sitting with him, and eating the ice cream. But… "Why are you here, July?"

She smiled, shaking her head and rolling her eyes patronizingly. He glared, but she just made a little 'tisk' sound, ignoring his annoyance, and pushed her fingers through his hair, working to make the mess look semi-presentable. "You aren't the only skater in the world, Trowa. And certainly not the only one at this rink. My practice just ended, I was getting some juice when I saw you in here. You're a mess, Trowa."

He didn't really want to, but he couldn't help practically melted under the touch, letting her finger-comb his hair for him as he woke up little by little. He had to admit that, as much as he disliked having to skate with her, that she had never been terrible to him. And he didn't have to deal with skating with her anymore, so what was the harm in letting her stay there? He was too tired to fight, anyway, and just blinked as she went on practically petting him as he sat there, and he enjoyed it thoroughly.

She liked to talk, though, so, on she went, "And I have no idea why you're here, of all places! Don't you have a bed? And I thought Dimitri cut your practice off really early for some birthday party? My class got to have an extra practice with Dimitri last night while you were there. I liked the extra rink time, you know? But a party is all well and good, but getting stoned is NOT a good idea! What if you have to be drug tested?"

"I'm not on drugs," Trowa grunted, his voice still scratchy from sleep, and crying last night, "I came here late… I was upset."

"Why would you come here?" July asked. She looked at him, shaking her head, then pulled over her skating bag and rummaged inside it. She pulled out a comb and a suspicious tube that looked like lipstick, except it was flesh coloured…

"Skating helps me think." Trowa said, watching as she attacked his hair with the comb, making quick work of the mess, then she was uncapping the tube. Trowa leaned away, worried about what she was planning with THAT thing! "Hey! Stop it! Wait… why are you talking to me? I thought you hated me…"

July stopped, frowning, "…where'd you get that idea? I know we didn't do well as skating partners, but that doesn't mean I'm not still your friend."

"…You're my friend? I thought you were Quatre's friend."

"Yes, I'm Quatre's friend, too. I can have more than one, you know," she said with a laugh. "You're loopy in the morning, Trowa. I kinda like you this way. Not so surly. You're a real pain in the ass when I have to skate with you, but you're not too bad as just a fellow skater."

Trowa frowned (although it looked a bit more like a pout with his hazy eyes). "I'm not talking to Quatre anymore."

July's jaw dropped, and she dropped the concealer stick in shock. "What?"

"He's a spy. His cousin? It's Heero Yuy. He's one of team Lowe. He's probably been feeding them my secrets for weeks. Or he was planted here to sabotage me. Or the rink. Or something. He was just toying with me." Trowa 's voice was deadpanned, his eyes staring at the wall, talking as if it had happened to someone else. To be honest, he didn't want to be talking about this at all…

"Oh Trowa…" July moved onto the couch and wrapped her arms around him in a hug, snuggling him. Trowa couldn't stand up to that, and he slumped against her arms. July rubbed his arm comfortingly, "Now… are you sure? I mean… I've known Quatre for years, and he's just not really the spying type…"

"His cousin is Heero. Yuy." Trowa said again, stressed and upset."I'm sure about that!"

"But that doesn't mean he's spying on you…" July responded, patting his shoulder a little. She was finding that she didn't mind so much. She liked Trowa so much more when she didn't have to skate with him as her partner.

"It's not his fault, I guess, but… Heero Yuy! He was born in 'camp Lowe'! How can I trust someone around the enemy so much?"

July took a minute to think out how exactly to say this. She pulled away from Trowa, and grabbed his face in her hand, turning him to look straight at her. He blinked. She used his moment of trust to spring the concealer stick on him, holding him there as she put it on the bags under his eyes, tutting as she did, "You really look like a mess! Sit still and let me blend it!" she growled, using her thumb to hide the dark circles under his eyes as he glared at her.

She paused for a moment, as if chewing over her next words, and then spoke up again in a quiet, but firm voice, "I trust lots of people who are in 'camp Lowe' you know!"

Trowa glared harder, pulling back from her hands. She glared right back at him, as if he was the one being stubborn.

After a minute, she put the concealer stick back into her skating bag and stood, motioning Trowa to follow her towards the large window on the wall. From there, he could see the rink. There were three skaters on the ice, warming up. "See, Trowa,you're so used to being the big star around here. Team Barton is our rink's champion. You get all the perks. I think you've forgotten what it's like to have to share ice time," she said, pointing to the three down below who were working with their coaches away from each other. "Or have lunch, share practice time, share your COACHES even, with your biggest competitors. Do you think that Petra makes any money training only ONE skater? God no."

Trowa watched the skaters below, and began to chew on his thumb nail as he let that idea sit in his brain a little.

But July wasn't done. "What about me in stretch class, too? You didn't recognize all those girls, did you? No. Some are ballet dancers. Some are Lowe Skaters. We're all one class, though. Any one of them could overhear me talking about my training. And they might not even be doing it up purpose, but knowing what I can or can't do will affect how they train. It's not done maliciously. Did Quatre hate ME because I asked him what kind of music you liked? You know that helped me land you as a partner."

Trowa nodded slowly, leaning against the glass and looking at July critically. "You did. You picked his brain. You cheated."

July's brows rose. "I BEG your pardon! I used the resources at my disposal to do something extra. I still out-skated the other girls! I showed you that I had the drive to go the extra mile and work WITH my partner's tastes. The music didn't do the skating FOR me, Trowa. I just went the extra mile to get noticed! You can't blame me! You had a line up a mile long just to get ice time with you!"

"…but you had an unfair advantage…"

"If I was searching for a job, and I knew someone who worked there. And that person told me 'don't wear red to the interview' would it be cheating not to wear red? Or would it be common sense?"

"…But the other people didn't know that."

"Trowa. Everyone with half a brain and a pair of ears knows you prefer to skate to rock." July said with a roll of her eyes, "My class used to skate after you and Cathy loads of times. You always did your cool downs to rock music. It wasn't a far reach. Or am I a spy, because I noticed that?"

"Well… I don't know. Are you?"

"Am I?" July asked him back, not letting him get away with easy answers. "Are the girls in my class all spies, just because they skate for the Lowe rink? What about my friends here at Petra's rink? They're all working for the same spots at regionals. Do you see any of them glaring daggers at each other and being underhanded? No. Because they have to skate with these people for hours a day! We have to be friends! We practice three of four times a day; we can't afford individual ice time for every practice, and there isn't enough time in a day for everyone to have their own time! We have to share. We have to get along. And we help each other."

"Now Mr. Star Skater," July poked Trowa's chest with that, as if he didn't know whom she was referring. "It seems that you have forgotten that lesson. You don't have to do everything alone for it to be your own accomplishment."

"…I guess so…" Trowa said after a few minutes, watching the skaters downstairs work through their moves. He turned to July, "…thanks."

"What are friends for?" She quipped easily.

But that wasn't an easy thing for Trowa. He held her wrist for a minute, looking at her seriously, "No, I mean it… Thanks… I'm glad we're friends. I didn't know we were."

July laughed, shaking her head a little, "You really HAVE been cloistered up in your championship tower for way too long, Trowa. Seriously."

Trowa flushed in embarrassment, but moved away from the window, grabbing a bottle of water and sitting on the couch. She was right. He was being ridiculous… He didn't think that Quatre was a spy before. Why should he now? And Quatre wasn't sleeping with the guy, since he said that Heero was with the braided guy. He was being jealous, and over reacting. He was. He knew it. Shit.

July walked around the practice room, swaying a little before she batted her lashed and smiled, "So…since we've established that we are friends… could you give me a ride to Saturday's party?" she tried to charm.

She was met with a blank stare, then Trowa clued in, "The school merging party?"

"Yeah. That's my school, you know. I go to the private school… we will be merging in with the local high school very soon… really big party… ringing any bells in that thick head of yours, Trowa?"

"Yeah, I just… I don't think I'm going. I don't like parties."

July just gave a dramatic sigh, "Don't worry about it. I'll find another way. But you really have to get out a bit more. Maybe Cathy wants to go?"

"I'm sure she wants to go. I'm also sure she does not want to go with me," Trowa said, tightening his lips into a thin line. He didn't look happy anymore. Not at all.

July frowned, sensing there was more to this. "Well, she probably doesn't want to go with her brother as a date, I guess, but, there's no need to be angry about it…"

"She said she was glad she broke her leg. Because she finally got rid of me." Trowa growled, putting his chin in his hand and glaring at the floor.

"Ouch. I didn't think she'd say it like THAT…"

Trowa looked at July in shock, "You knew?"

"Well… she talked a lot. I knew she was feeling trapped. It's not your fault, Trowa. She would have been angry at anyone in your position!"

"What did she say?" Trowa pushed, worried. Did Cathy tell July about the truth behind her accident?!

"Well, she told me that after your parents died, she had to take on a lot of responsibilities that she wasn't exactly ready for. You're guardian doesn't do anything but send you the money your parents had set up for you, and she was always complaining about that. And on top of all that, with you as a skating partner, you're just around her constantly. She's really dedicated to this 'being popular' thing. I think she does all her shit for attention. I wouldn't be surprised if her whole skating career is all for the attention, too. I mean, she was thrilled with all the interviews and stories about her after the accident. She totally fed off it! It was disgusting to see. You're really devoted, though, and totally committed to skating. It was bound to explode sometime."

"Oh." Was all he could say.

July patted his arm, "Hey… you should be glad that this happened when it did. You're still young. Your career's just beginning and you're making a name for yourself. You can still get a different partner, or change divisions…"

"We tried that. We tried different partners, remember? And IF I somehow manage to convince Quatre to skate with me again I still can't compete with him! Regulations are pretty clear that pairs has to be one lady and one man. And I'm not moving to another city! I refuse to work under another coach!"

July smirked, "You know no one will spoil you quite like Dimitri does." She teased.

Trowa had to smile, shrugging. "He's very good with me. I can be… eccentric. He already knows all my ticks. He knows how to make me do anything, and he knows my limits and how to push them. He's been my coach since my parents died, and he's… well… I'm closer to him than anyone else in the world right now. I can't handle losing him."

July hummed, "Well… if you won't move right now, and you can't skate with one of the other partners… that leaves… Quatre."

Trowa nodded, "I need to get him back. And not just for my skating, but because I was an asshole; I overreacted"

"GREAT!" July clapped in delight, "You get Quatre back. You train with him. You can do some gala performances and lay low until Cathy goes public with quitting, then, you go through another round of finding a skating partner when things aren't so screwed up in your life. This seems like the best scenario. You'd better start kissing ass and thinking up a really, really good way to impress him if you want him to take you back."

Trowa nodded solemnly, watching out the window at the skaters on the rink. One was spinning, leaning her head back, bowing low…

"July. I need you to teach me how to do a layback," Trowa said suddenly. He remembered the way Quatre had smiled that day, holding him and trying to show him how to do it. Quatre thought that laybacks wer pretty. And Trowa would have learned it properly in Iria hadn't come home when she did. He had never mastered it. But Quatre loved the movement, loved watching Trowa flex, stretch, and move with such grace.. he knew Quatre would like it. And he knew that Quatre would understand the work it would take to learn it. If he could impress Quatre with anything, it would be a dance move! This was perfect!

"…um, what for? Men don't do laybacks! It's only a requirement of the woman's short program. It doesn't even score points for a man to do it! Why would you want to learn it?"

Trowa stood, though, nodding to himself, "That's it. That's what I have to do to get Quatre back. I need to show him that I listen to what he says. That I respect him as a dancer, you know? And I need to show him that I don't need someone holding my hand the whole time. I need to show him that I can learn something on my own. I want to learn how to do a layback."

"But why? That doesn't even make sense, Trowa! AND! It's not easy for a guy to do. A girl's center of gravity is near her hips, while yours would be near your shoulders. It's a lot harder for a guy to bend back like that. I don't even know if I can train you how! I've never trained someone before! And not that! I don't even think Dimitri do it, and he's been skating for years!"

"Dimitri isn't as flexible as me, and you know it, July. I can lean back like that. I can do it. I don't need a training partner. I can do this. Just… Just spot me or something!" Trowa said, standing. He lifted his arms over his head and began to lean. But he didn't get far before he was stumbling.

July scoffed, "What was THAT, Trowa… God… Come here… Okay, first, go slow… bend with your whole body, not just your shoulders…" and July put her hand under Trowa's back, giving him support as she talked him through the movement.

She didn't even notice where the time went, or that she'd missed the beginning of school, just to teach Trowa how to do a layback right. But she didn't regret it.

Trowa had mastered it enough by lunch so that July could leave, and he used the rest of the afternoon to work on the layback and think about Quatre. He decided that he'd go over after school… and beg him to forgive him. Hopefully, Quatre would smack him upside the head for being so stupid, and take him back. Hopefully.

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In school, Quatre looked at the empty locker that he expected to see Trowa at. Obviously he was not there. And he wasn't answering his text messages, or any of his calls last night. He sighed, and went off to his next class surrounded by his "friends". As soon as they heard that he and Trowa had a fight, though, they were having a blast complaining about how that jock was "changing" Quatre, and that he was better off without him.

They had no idea.

Being around Trowa hadn't changed him. Being around these people had. He had never been much into the crazy hair dye and the black clothes and facial piercings, but since he was dramatic, he was immediately shunted into the 'artsy' crowd. But he wasn't artsy. He was an athlete. Just, a different kind of athlete than the football and basketball players at this school. Secretly, he couldn't wait for the school's to merge, because his friends from dance class would be coming here, as well as Heero and Duo.

BING! Quatre grabbed for his cell phone and flipped it open to read the text message, hoping Trowa had finally gotten back to him. Instead, it was Jason, reminding him that Quatre promised to treat him to popcorn, too. As if he could have forgotten, the way that guy was reminding him every few hours?

Quatre texted back that he hadn't forgotten, and then looked over his text history. Over 20 outgoing texts to Trowa's cell, and still nothing returned. He knew the skater was ignoring him, but he thought that Trowa would figure out eventually that Quatre wasn't spying. Trowa knew him better than that. He would come to his senses soon enough. Or, at least he hoped he would.

He sat down in gym class, looking around. He was unsurprised that Trowa was absent, and snuck his phone out once more to text: "Gym class isn't as fun without you. R U done being mad yet? 3 Q"

He hoped Trowa would talk to him again soon.

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Thanks for reading! Please review! I love each and every one, even if it's nothing more than an emote!

///.^

(Trowa-emote agrees)


	18. Chapter 18

**Keep in Time**

_**By: Dentelle_noir**_

**Summary:** AU 3x4. A suspicious accident leaves Trowa without a skating partner, sentencing him to a year without competition. Quatre is an injured dancer, trying to find a way to live without his joy. Together, they make new rules and find a new path.

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**Chapter 18**

After hours of July's layback instruction, nearly throwing his whole back out and losing his balance, and falling completely over a few times, almost smashing his head on the floor, Trowa finally mastered the layback on the ground. He planned to work on it on the ice tomorrow, then add in the spin. He was getting used to the idea of having autonomy about his skating. While skating pairs, Cathy almost always picked what they would do, and what music they would do it to. It was nice to have some control.

He worked out in the weight room for a while, and then tried again, once more, to show Dimitri and Petra what he learned during his day off school, and then he was confident enough to go to Quatre's house. Quatre wanted him to learn a layback, right? He learned it. He hoped that was a demonstration of how much he cared about Quatre. He also had flowers in the back of his jeep if the layback failed to impress.

Quatre had been texting him all day, but Trowa had been too upset last night to respond, and by the afternoon, he knew a simple text wouldn't be able to convey his apology. He needed to apologize in person, and show Quatre that not only did he listen to him, but he respected his decisions as an athlete. He even wore his body suit and dance pants, just because he knew Quatre liked that outfit on him best. He was ready for this. Totally… Really… Mostly...

He pulled up to Quatre's driveway… and sat in the Jeep for far longer than he needed to. He was so nervous! Crap!

But this was no different than a competition, right? Everyone got nervous… But winner's overcame that and preformed anyway. With that in mind, Trowa finally kicked his feet out of the Jeep and stood, walking boldly towards the door with his game face on and the flowers for Quatre in his hand. He stood on the stoop, fixed his hair, made sure his breath was nice (tic tac!) and then… let his finger hover over the doorbell.

He could do this.

He could do this! Come on! Step up, Trowa!

He imagined a rink, filled with spectators and a panel of judges… him standing at the entrance to the ice, all by himself. Without Cathy this time. Could he do this? Could he really do something big without Cathy?

Yes. Yes he could. He pushed past the trepidation, and pushed the doorbell.

It took just a moment, but the door opened abruptly.

Trowa found himself face-to-face with his worst nightmare. Worse even than Heero Yuy. Standing there, glaring at him, was none other than Heero Yuy's biggest fan, and Quatre's best friend, Duo Maxwell. And he did NOT look happy to see Trowa there. "What the hell do you want, Barton?" he growled. Why was Duo even there? What bad timing…

"I wanted to talk to Quatre… Please?" He heard himself asking, trying to be as pleasant as possible. This was Quatre best friend, right? He had to impress he best friend…

"Quatre's not here." He said with a glare, "So hit the road."

Trowa, though, was not going to be throw off so easily, "… Are you sure he's not home? He shouldn't be in stretch class now…"

"He's not here, dude. He left with some idiot with purple hair to see a movie. I don't know what happened to his taste! I swear to god! He had good taste until I left for Russia! Team Lowe got Gold, I'm sure you heard…" Duo tried to push his nose into it… but Trowa looked stricken.

"He… He's out with Jason. A-already? We just… we just broke up yesterday…" Trowa stammered, shocked.

Duo, sensing weakness, pounced immediately. "Well, yeah. The guy was texting him all day. He kept thinking it was you, but nope, Purple-Dude it was. I don't really like him, but at least he's better than you. Quatre must think so too. They seemed pretty cozy."

Trowa looked stricken, and he stood on the doorstep like a gaping fish for a moment, then the betrayal and anger began to churn in his stomach, building up inside him like a storm. He was shocked. Stunned even. How could Quatre be out with Jason? It was like a knife stabbing through his heart, cutting worse than Heero! At least with Yuy, Trowa had known deep down that Quatre wasn't really romantically interested in him, but Jason?

How could Quatre do that to him?

Trowa snorted, looking at the cement of the foyer, thinking about that. After the way Trowa had treated him, did he even deserve Quatre's forgiveness? Probably not. Duo was probably right to be gloating at Trowa's pain.

He couldn't believe that Quatre would do that, though! After all the messages, and texts… after only one day? Had Trowa fucked up so badly that he couldn't make it right again? Or had Quatre been leading him on the whole time! Out with Jason behind his back after all those messages that he wanted to talk about all this? Something didn't add up, but it was pretty friggan obvious that Quatre wasn't home and there was no way that Duo could have made up the description of a guy who looked just like Jason. He had to be telling the truth. Which meant that Quatre had been fucking with his head this whole God-Damn TIME?!

He could barely think straight! He was so hurt he could barely manage to swallow the ache in his throat. The flowers hung limply from his hands, a symbol of how stupid and gullible he had been. Stupid gullible Trowa again. He had no idea that Quatre had been manipulating him too, but then again, he had no idea that Cathy was a snake either. Apparently he couldn't trust anything that he thought he knew about the people in his life.

And while all this was going on, Duo just watched him with a gloating sort of smirk.

He snapped, letting his temper block out his hurt, lashing out at the closest thing. Duo.

"I guess Quatre's not the 'spying' type after all," Trowa hissed at Duo, his eyes blazing in fury, masking the hurt twisting in the depths of his stomach. "He's the backstabbing type." He took the flowers and mashed them into Duo's hands, smacking him in the face with the bouquet that he had bought for Quatre. It wasn't like he would need them. It wasn't like Quatre actually cared about him. This was all just some game. He was stuck up in another fucking GAME! Everywhere he turned, he was the pawn in someone else's game! He was SICK of it!

Duo sputtered, lily petals stuck in his mouth before he could let out a curse or anything as Trowa turned on his heel and stomped out, climbing into his Jeep and hitting reverse.

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Quatre batted Jason's hand away from his waist for the seventh time, and they were still in the concession line! He paid for the drinks and popcorn (two separate bags, so Jason had no excuse to touch him!) and then turned to his movie companion with a frigid glare.

Jason put his hands up in a sign of surrender, and led them towards the theater, but as they walked through the door into the dark theater, Quatre distinctly felt Jason's hands brushing up against his hip again. This was getting annoying. Really, Really annoying. Jason didn't even know about Quatre and Trowa's argument; Quatre hadn't told anyone at school.

Quite honestly, Quatre didn't trust any of the people he was supposedly friends with at school with something important to him. Time and time again his group of friends had shown themselves to be narrow-minded, distrusting, and oddly enough, they were very aggressive towards people who held different views than their own. Quatre found it pretty hypocritical for people on the fringe of High-School society to ostracize him for not conforming to their non-conformist ways. But all too often he found himself changing what he was wearing, or not saying how he really felt about things just to fit in a little better.

Quatre suggested some seats around the front-middle, because they were the best to see the screen, but Jason refused, touching Quatre's wrist and leading him higher, towards the back of the screen. He pulled in close, talking in Quatre's ear for no reason."I like the back better."

Quatre rolled his eyes, but slid into the row. He didn't want to cause a fuss. Especially since he and Trowa were having a fight, he thought he should be careful not to lose his friends. "So, I heard the movie was supposed to be really good." Quatre said, starting conversation.

Jason nodded, "Yeah, that's what I heard too." He replied back, leaning way over and brushing their shoulders.

Quatre glared, "Jason. Stop it. We're here as friends, because I owed you a movie."

"Relax, Kitty-Quat," Jason said, sliding his hand up onto Quatre's shoulder and massaging his neck, "You're too tense."

The movie hadn't even started and already Quatre was getting fed up with this bullshit. He was upset enough without worrying about Jason's unwanted advances. "I'm relaxed about as much as I dare to be around you."

Suddenly Quatre felt hot breath and a wet, slick tongue sucking on his earlobe. He jerked in surprised, but Jason just snickered a little, "Mmm. Quit playing so hard to get. Everyone knows you want me."

What did he mean 'everyone'? "Pardon?!"

Jason leaned in, wrapping his arm around Quatre's shoulders, "Come on. You just dated the jock strap to make me jealous. He's not your type. I get it. I wasn't chasing after you hard enough."

"Trowa's my boyfriend!" Quatre hissed, "And you don't even KNOW my type! You wouldn't know it if it bit you on the ass! Just because we're fighting right now doesn't mean I don't still care about him!"

Oh shit. He didn't mean to spill that!

Jason's face lit up like Christmas, "Fighting, hmm? And here you are, with me instead. I told you. Everyone knows you're hot for me. You keep sending all the signals. Let's just cut to the chase, then?"

And Jason pushed forward, grabbing Quatre's face and crushing their lips together.

But that. Was. IT!

Quatre didn't need to take this shit! Not from Jason! Not from anyone! Just to stay "friends" with people who obviously didn't know a thing about him? It wasn't worth this aggravation! He was SICK of playing the part of some femmy little bitch so he fit in!

Quatre grabbed Jason's shoulder and SHOVED, using all his weight, making the taller boy slam backwards, shocked at the power Quatre had. Obviously he had no idea how much a male dancer had to be able to lift!

Quatre stood, fury blazing in his eyes, "You want a signal?" He yelled, heard over the previews. The entire cinema turned to look.

Quatre grabbed the bag of popcorn and up-ended it over Jason's spike purple hair, emptying the whole bag with one fell swoop. He cocked a hip out, glaring, "There's your fucking signal and the only one I've EVER given you, Asshole! Fuck off and leave me alone! I'm NOT fucking interested. I'm GLAD my boyfriend gave you a black eye. I don't care if you never speak to me again. I don't want your friendship. I don't want anything to do with you, or your friends, Ever. Again. And if you ever try to talk to me again? I'll kick you in the balls. You got it?"

Jason gapped like a fish. A fish covered in popcorn, that was…

Quatre turned on his heels and walked out of the cinema, just as the lights went out for the previews to begin.

Well, at least that freed up his evening.

And suddenly, knowing that he didn't have to deal with those people anymore, his so-called friends, he felt free. No more pretending he was something else just to fit in. By Monday the private school was going to merge with their high school meaning that Duo and Heero, Relena, July, and all of his friends from ballet class were going to be there, hanging out with him. And hopefully, Trowa was going to be ready to forgive him soon enough, and might even let Quatre skate with him again.

Letting out a sigh, Quatre went to the bus stop and hopped onto the first one that came by, getting as far away from Jason as possible, and closer to his real friends. He even considered going to Trowa's place, but he thought that Cathy would never let him in anyway.

All he could do was wait for Trowa. He wasn't going to plead and beg. He was going to wait until Trowa came to his senses and came to him.

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When he got home it was to find his door stoop littered with leaves and broken stems. A lily lay there, broken halfway down the stem, and a little white petal was hanging off the porch light.

Worried, Quatre picked up the broken lily gently, cradling it in his hands. It was so sad… he loved lilies. Who would break it on his door step?

He had a very bad feeling about that, but he had no choice but to unlock the door and face whatever happened head on.

The entranceway was littered worse with the carnage of lilies, and there was a groan from the kitchen. Quatre had noticed his sister's car already in the driveway, so he wasn't surprised to hear her voice ordering someone to sit still. And when he got in there, he was less surprised to see that the person squirming was Duo.

Iria had out the first aid kit and was applying some antiseptic spray to Duo's face as he made faces and tried to get away. He had little scrapes all over his face, and a leaf stuck in his hair still, even though it looked like Heero had been picking them out, from a little pile he was making of stems and petals on the table beside him.

When Duo spotted Quatre, he glared, "Your Ex is a fucking MENACE! I told you that guy was violent!"

Quatre cradled his flower closer, protectively. "Trowa's not a menace! And… he's not… really violent!" Although just saying that reminded him of Trowa knocking Jason one in the eye. He suppressed the smile at that thought.

Thankfully, Heero came to his rescue. He brought over a glass with some water it in, and helped Quatre prune the broken stem. One lily survived. "He's not that violent. I would have done the same thing. He came over with flowers, and Duo told him you were out with Jason. He didn't take it well. I don't think he meant to hurt Duo with the flowers"

"He meant to kill me!" Duo protested, "I'm lucky I wasn't fatally maimed!"

Heero rolled his eyes, and handed Quatre the glass. "…he was pretty upset that you were out on a date already…"

Oh fuck. FUCK. How much worse could this GET?! Quatre held his head in his hand, "I wasn't on a DATE. I owed him a movie, and I ended up throwing my popcorn over his head because he kept trying to cop a feel! FUCK! I told you that it wasn't a date! What did you tell him, Duo?"

Duo guiltily looked up at Quatre, "Well… I didn't say it was a date. I just… didn't specify it wasn't. I really don't like that guy, Quatre! He's Heero's fucking biggest rival!"

Quatre had just about enough of all this! "You know what, Duo? GROW UP! Heero's got rivals everywhere, but he's got friends too! Trowa is a really nice guy! He always treated me well! And I really liked him! Now he's never going to talk to me! He came over here to apologize to me, and you let him think I'd dropped him for Jason already?! What's that make me look like, Duo?" Quatre wasn't holding back any punches now, too pissed off at this whole friggan circus! "So stop doing me anymore FAVOURS, Duo! I don't think I can handle anymore right now in my life!"

Quatre turned on his heel and stalked upstairs, holding his little lily in the water glass tightly… trying not to break down. When did his life turn into a soap opera?!

He SLAMMED the door behind him for good measure, knowing it echoed all the way down to the kitchen, and set his flower beside his computer screen, then crawled into bed. He didn't even care that he was still dressed with his shoes on; he didn't want to deal with all this anymore!

Trowa had tried to apologize, and instead he was met with all this? No wonder he wasn't returning any of Quatre's texts!

As tears threatened to fall, Quatre kicked off his shoes and curled up on the bed, pulling out his phone to check and make sure he hadn't missed a text from Trowa. Nope. Nothing. But this had gone too far now. Quatre had to make sure he knew the truth.

He dialed Trowa's number, letting the cell ring. And ring. And ring….

"_You've reached Trowa. I'm unavailable. Probably skating. Leave a message. BEEP!"_

Holding back a sob, Quatre clutched the phone, then left the first message of many that night: "Trowa… This is Quatre. Your flowers were very nice. I managed to save one… I'm looking at it right now. Listen, baby, It wasn't like Duo said it was. Please… call me back. I have to talk to you and set things right again, okay? Okay, please… Please just… call me back? I miss you."

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Dimitri was teaching a class of four young male skaters- the Men's Juvenile division. Out of the four, three had qualified for regionals, and the 15 year old was the favorite to dominate in the men's short program. They were working through the single lutz, jumping up from the side of their skate blades into wide arches, landing on the opposite side of the lean and continuing on into a camel spin, keeping their bodies parallel to the ice and spinning on only one skate. One at a time, each boy tried the maneuver and then skated a lap around the ice to get to the back of the line again.

They were good.

But they weren't as good as Trowa.

He skated out to the ice, sliding into position behind the previous skater, and he launched into the lutz and camel spin, then kicked off into a lap, moving in sync with the other skaters easily.

But of course, he hadn't blended in THAT easily.

Dimitri pointed at him, a disproving look on his face, "Trowa, you know you can't disrupt another group's ice time! I'm teaching the men's division right now."

Trowa nodded, keeping in time with the other skaters around him. "I know. That's why I'm here, Dimitri. I'm going to skate singles from now on."

The other three skaters stopped abruptly, jaw's dropping, and Dimitri looked like he was extremely confused. He shook his head for a moment, peering closer at Trowa as if he'd grown a second head, "Are you serious, Boyshka?"

Trowa nodded, and kept skating around the rink. The movement was soothing. Allowed him to focus his thoughts better. It took him a minute to put it all in order, and then looked at Dimitri seriously, "Cathy doesn't want me. I'm finished with Quatre. I don't like skating with July. And I'm not going to move away from this city in order to try out a hundred different partners. I can do it, can't I? I know there are different moves, but…"

Trowa smirked, watching Dimitri stew for a minute. He had figured this part out just now, watching the other men's skaters practice. He knew all those moves, even if they weren't his usual element. "You've been training me to be able to do Men's singles for years, haven't you?"

Dimitri looked over Trowa critically… Unsure.. "I don't know, Boyshka. I don't know if you're ready for that. You're not thinking straight. You're too upset about your boyfriend."

Not answering that, Trowa sped up the lap, then jumped up, tightening his form and spinning around once, twice, and then half around again before he landed the double axel, then moved into a camel spin. Perfect. Each movement was perfect. Then he pulled up out of the camel spin, holding his hands aloft, and began to slowly bend…bend… backwards lower and lower into a layback spin, letting his hands open, then fall at his sides like a flower in bloom.

He straightened, pushing the hair out of his eyes, looking at Dimitri with a confidence and pride that he hadn't seen since the accident. Trowa was serious. "Let me try out Men's singles. I'll stay in pairs training too, until you're convinced I can handle it. I'm not able to compete in either until next year anyway. I've already missed the qualifying for both Mens and Pairs. What's there to lose?"

Dimitri didn't have an answer to that.

He just hoped Trowa knew what he was getting into. And that he wasn't doing this just to get back at Cathy and Quatre for leaving him.

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AN: Thank you all for reading! Please review!


	19. Chapter 19

**Keep In Time**

_Dentelle_noir_

**Summary:** AU 3x4. A suspicious accident leaves Trowa without a skating partner, sentencing him to a year without competition. Quatre is an injured dancer, trying to find a way to live without his joy. Together, they make new rules and find a new path.

* * *

**Chapter 19**

School on Friday was a tense, hostile environment for Quatre. After the stunt at the movies, Quatre had been snubbed all day by his off-beat friends. He wasn't smart enough to fit in with the brainiac group, and he sure wasn't popular enough to be allowed near that table. Trowa was at school on Friday, but he managed to find Wufei Chang and sit next to him all lunch getting tutoring help in the math he was slowly failing. Trowa hadn't even looked up as Quatre passed by.

And Trowa hadn't answered any of Quatre's phone calls, either. Each message got a little more painful, until mid-Friday, when Quatre stopped calling between each class. The only respite Quatre had from the social blackballing was during stretch class, but even there he noticed that word of Quatre supposedly backstabbing a skater had gotten around. Only July (who knew what was really going on) and Cosette (Who really didn't give a shit) would be his stretch partners, but at least he had those two helping him. And he was grateful for it. He didn't do well being a loner.

But it was only for a short time. By Monday, both July and Cosette, along with Heero, Duo, Relena, and the remaining students of the private academy would be amalgamated into the public school system, and then he would have another table to sit at, at least. With his real friends there, he would have a place where he would be welcomed without having to bend over backwards to conform.

Quatre tried to meet Trowa at his car Friday afternoon to talk, but the skater skipped out of last period. He was probably at the rink already practicing, and practicing all night with Dimitri to best avoid Quatre.

Saturday morning, Quatre tried calling again. He even thought about going to the rink. Trowa still wasn't answering his calls. But as much as he wanted to go to the rink and beg Trowa to talk to him, he had more self-respect than that. He stopped calling by 11. Trowa wasn't about to start picking up the phone now, was he? He was just wasting time still calling.

But that didn't mean that he didn't spend all Saturday afternoon on his couch, miserable, flicking through channels and wishing Trowa would just suck it up and call back, even if was just to yell at him.

That was where Duo and Heero found him a few hours later, still in the same spot on the couch flipping through the channels with a box of cookies on one side of him and a pyramid of empty pop cans on the other.

"Ew," Duo said first, walking in and picking up the cookies first, "Why are you doing this to yourself, Quatre! You're a mess!" and Duo walked into the kitchen to put them away before he was tempted to have one, too. Duo was training for soccer season, though, and he was on a strict diet. He was the best power forward in the city and he wasn't going to be able to slack at all if he wanted to keep his status at the new school. The spring training season was starting tomorrow, and he would have to be up at the crack of dawn for tryouts. He couldn't afford to eat cookies!

Heero sat down where the cookies used to be and sighed, "You really liked this guy, didn't you, Quat?"

Quatre couldn't help himself from leaning over, relaxing in his cousin's arms, letting Heero hold him and rock him gently, "That should be 'really like this guy.' As in… 'still do.' He'll come around. He's just really angry at me. I can't blame him."

Heero sighed, pulling Quatre against his side to give him a tight hug, just letting him snuggle against him. "You can't stay miserable like this, though. It's not like you, Quatre. You're scaring me. I'm worried. You're my best friend. We've been best friends since I was born. I joined skating the same year you finally convinced your dad to let you do ballet. Do you remember our promise? We're in this together, right?" and Heero help up his pinky.

It was an old gesture between the two of them, since they were both so young that they never could remember who came up with it first. They pinky swore on anything important; Heero treating Duo right;Quatre swearing not to tell about Heero's sexuality until he was ready; Heero swearing to back up Quatre when he came out; or who got to have the last brownie at the family reunion! It was a vow never broken. Quatre knew that Heero was trying to help. Quatre help up his hand, and locked his and Heero's pinky together, "Okay. We're in this together. I won't be miserable on my own again."

A bright smile broke onto Heero's face, and he nodded, "Good. I think you need some cheering up. How about we go out? It's Saturday night, and that big party everyone is talking about is tonight. You can be my date?" Heero said.

Quatre lifted a brow, "Won't Duo be jealous that you're dating me now?" he said sarcastically.

Duo grinned, "Naw. I'm the wet blanket. I have soccer tryouts tomorrow morning. I gotta leave the party early, get some sleep. I won't even have my phone on. But I can give you guys a ride there and you can cab home or catch a ride with someone else when you're ready to go home. Sounds good? Wanna go?"

Heero grabbed Quatre's pinky and held it hostage, reminding him of his promise.

Under that pressure, Quatre caved with a sigh, "Fine. I'll go. But just for a few hours. And if Jason's there…"

"Then Duo and I can kick his ass for you, no problem." Heero said with a grin.

Quatre snorted, brightening immediately, "Then he'd be beaten down by TWO male figure skaters?! HA! Priceless!"

Heero wanted to ask why Trowa had creamed the idiot previously, but didn't want to remind Quatre about him if at all possible. So Duo grinned excitedly and ran upstairs to Quatre's room, going through his closet to find something for the blonde to wear.

Quatre almost forgot how much he missed Trowa, what with having to restrain Duo from dressing him up in something ridiculous, or stopping Duo from putting him in Iria's heels, he had no time to let his thoughts wander even a little. By the time they piled into Duo's little car, he was laughing and actually enjoying himself, looking forward to the party.

Too bad that wouldn't last very long.

________________________________________________________________

Trowa remained at the rink as long as possible on Saturday. He practiced, worked out, did his homework, and even ate there, just so he didn't have to go home. He knew Cathy would be getting ready for the big party, and she would probably try to convince him to give her a ride. He couldn't handle her anymore. He didn't understand her. When had she become more concerned with her image than her skating? Obviously he missed it, because she was willing to go to extremes to get the attention she wanted.

He hated being alone, but Trowa wasn't willing to sacrifice his dignity for her attention, so he stayed at the rink and focused on his skating. It worked before, and he hoped it would work again.

Sitting alone in the weight room, Trowa found himself fishing in his bag for his cell phone… He had turned it to silent hours ago so he wouldn't hear when Quatre called. This morning it just made him angry to hear it, but now, once he settled down a little… He missed his voice. Sitting in the weight room, on the leg-press machine, everything reminded him of sneaking a call to Quatre for the first time from up there. He would have been in trouble, but he had missed hearing Quatre's voice so much he risked getting caught slacking off just to call. He didn't regret doing it then. Or now, really.

And he really missed his voice. Still.

He wondered bitterly if Quatre was whispering sweet nothings in Jason's ear now while Trowa sat here, or if Quatre had gone to the party with Heero and Duo, dancing between the two other guys… He knew in his head that Heero was Quatre's cousin, but he was so jealous of their closeness that he couldn't seem to think rationally! When it came to Quatre, it was like he couldn't put together any coherent thoughts! He couldn't think with his head. Or at least not the one on his shoulders.

He reached for his cell phone and held it, the display blinking. New text messages, new voice messages… All Quatre, he was sure. He didn't think he wanted to hear them.

But then, he just wanted to hear his voice…

He started with the text messages, reading each and every one… Quatre's tone turned from upset, to frustrated, to angry, to upset and hurt but Trowa kept reading. He couldn't stop. Quatre wanted to talk this through, Quatre missed him, Quatre worried how he was going to pass math if he didn't show up to class… Trowa could feel himself slowly coming undone under the emotional onslaught. Over all, Quatre seemed annoyed at his behavior, but he was willing to give him a chance to fix it.

He should have stopped there. If he wanted to stay mad, he should have stopped at the text messages, but he still was desperate to hear Quatre's voice. Even if it was yelling at him…

But when he checked his messages, it wasn't anger he heard. There was frustration, apology, and overall a sense of hurt. He was hurt because Trowa believed that he was cheating on him.

Trowa felt terrible. Really, really terrible. He knew Jason was a manipulative snake, he should have known it wasn't a date, but instead of questioning Duo more he just believed him at face value, which had been stupid! Duo probably would have said anything to make Trowa leave! Duo hated him. Why did Trowa believe him anyway? He wanted to apologize to Quatre. He wanted Quatre to apologize to him for putting him in this stupid situation.

He wanted to end this fight, but he just didn't know what to say! Trowa leaned back on the leg-press machine, looking at his phone… holding it. Should he call? Should he text?

No. Quatre was at that big merge party with Heero and Duo. He had left a message saying that. Trowa didn't want to put him in a tight spot by calling him THEN. What if Duo answered? Or was hanging over Quatre's shoulder? No. he wouldn't call. He would let Quatre come to him when he was ready to talk.

He decided that he would wait for the next call, and then he would let Quatre tell him his side of the story. Then he would apologize and ask if they could see each other again. Yes. He was still angry about the whole thing, but… He had worked out most of his anger on the ice, and all that was left was unanswered questions.

And only Quatre held the answers.

He hoped he would call soon.

________________________________________________________________

Duo pulled up to the huge manor house that was hosting the merge party. The patio was full of teenagers drinking spiked punch and smoking joints in the corners away from the more conservative party goers. There was a pool in the back filled with bikini-clad girls and guys in swim trunks playing water-basketball, and above them girls and guys swayed on the large balcony, dancing along to the music blasting from the stereo.

_Red thong, Party's on, Love this song, sing along. Come together, leave alone, see you later back at home._

Heero got out of the car first, and then Duo walked out, grabbing his boyfriend's hand and entwining their fingers absently. Quatre followed along a little behind the two, looking around carefully for any signs of Jason or, more importantly, Trowa. But he was disappointed again. No Trowa.

Unfortunately, though, he saw Cathy easily enough. Her cast stuck out like a sore thumb on the balcony. He knew it would be coming off soon, but he knew she would milk recuperation for all it was worth. She enjoyed her skating-free life too much to give it all up to go back to endless practice for only seconds in the spotlight.

"Come on, Quatre!" Duo whined, grabbing his arm and tugging, "I wanna have some fun before I have to leave! I only have an hour, and that's pushing it! Let's get something to drink then go socialize!"

Quatre had no choice but to let himself be dragged along behind his friend, Heero following behind them at a more sedate pace, intensely happy to see Quatre receiving the treatment Duo usually gave him!

They didn't even get near the door; the property was massive but people were everywhere! They bypassed the main house and made their way to the back where the pool was and where some friends of Duo's were already playing a little round of drunken-soccer on a free patch of cement.

Duo let Quatre's arm go, finally, and joined in with a grin. He head-butted the soccer ball and shouldered his way into the game excitedly. Already he was making friends.

Quatre took a deep breath of freedom, and when he opened his eyes, taking in the surroundings, Heero was standing beside him with a smirk on his face and a plastic cup of punch in his hand, passing one to his cousin.

It wasn't that bad. The punch wasn't too strong, and the music wasn't as loud as he thought it would be. After a little while, he began to have a bit of fun, letting Heero pull him over to the pool-side where people were dancing to the music. With the incentive of dance, and Heero watching his back, Quatre began to relax and enjoy himself.

Before he even noticed time elapsed, Duo was coming over and kissing Heero goodnight, leaving to get ready for tryouts. But he and Heero kept dancing, and even turned a few ladies around the impromptu dance floor. July, Cosette, and all Quatre's friends streamed in slowly as the night wore on, and soon he had a whole group of people he trusted around him, watching out for each other. It was a great feeling. Here he fit in.

What he didn't know was that someone else was watching them, too, waiting for an opportunity.

And when Heero left to refill his drink, leaving Quatre doing salsa moves with one of his dancer friends, she found the perfect opportunity to strike.

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AN: I know it's short, but a lot happened. Please review! I love each and every one of them! Big green-ish button! PUSH IT! Thanks!


	20. Chapter 20

**Keep in Time**

_Dentelle_noir_

**Summary**: AU 3x4. A suspicious accident leaves Trowa without a skating partner, sentencing him to a year without competition. Quatre is an injured dancer, trying to find a way to live without his joy. Together, they make new rules and find a new path.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________

**Chapter 20**

Cathy was already long gone with Jeffy-boy to the big merge party. It was the place to be this Saturday night. One of the really rich girls at the private school opened up her home and invited everyone from the local high school and all the people who were staying from the private school (which weren't many students. All the boarding students had moved to another school, so only the local students were actually merging). The party had been the talk of the town for days. Trowa wasn't going, though. July had even called him earlier and tried to convince him to come out, but he said no. He couldn't work up the balls to face Quatre out of the blue and at a place like that. If it went bad, the whole school would know.

Instead, he laid on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He wasn't even playing his music, just staring, thinking… Quatre was at that party. He knew he was, since he had listened to every one of Quatre's messages. He kept thinking that he should get in his jeep and go, ask him to dance, and ask him to forgive him.

He knew he was being infantile about the whole thing. July was right… He was being spoiled. He wasn't used to sharing anymore. It was petty and immature to hate Yuy just because they competed. And now that he knew the truth behind Cathy's so called "accident," he couldn't even think up a reason to be angry at the other skater. Looking back on it… Yuy had never been anything other than professional to him. Yuy had always kept his distance and been semi-respectful. When they were both much younger they would do silly things like stick their tongues out at each other, but that was far in their past. And the past was making Trowa slowly push the only good thing in his life away from him.

He turned over on his bed, looking at the cell phone on the bedside table. Maybe he should call? But how could he even start to apologize?

The clock downstairs chimed 11pm, and still he couldn't sleep. The party was probably in full swing by now… Cathy was probably in a bedroom with Jeff and Quatre was probably hanging out with Duo and Heero and July. He should just go. He could do something romantic like walk up and say "Can I cut in?" and have a flower for him or something.

His cell phone hummed to life, clattering off the nightstand to the floor and opening, noisily jarring him out of his headspace and to the real world.

The loud thump of music, voices, and people filled up the silent room, and Trowa knew that the call was from that party.

"Trowa?" Someone called out over the din of noise. It was Quatre, but his voice was strained and… scared?

Immediately Trowa grabbed that phone, protective instincts flaring inside him as he put it to his ear, "Quatre? What's wrong!?"

"Trowa!" the relief was obvious in his voice and he let out a little near-hysterical chuckle and a muttered "Thank God" under his breath before his voice took on that sense of urgency from before. Something was very, very wrong.

He hopped out of bed and began to look for his shoes and jacket with near-frantic haste. He could tell something was wrong! This wasn't an 'I miss you' sort up upset, this was an 'I'm in trouble' sort of panic in his lover's voice. "Quatre what's wrong? Please? Do you need help?"

There was an audible sob and the sound of movement. Quatre's end went quiet for a moment, muffled in Quatre's shoulder or something. Then he must have moved, because Trowa was able to hear the sounds around Quatre again when he strained his ears. The music was still loud, but wherever Quatre was in that house was muting the worst of it. Then, Trowa heard one voice clearly. And it was Jeff.

"Here, Kitty Kitty!" the voice called, and behind it was drunken laughter. One laugh sounded suspiciously like Cathy's. Another girl's voice teased, "Come out, Come out wherever you are… We know you couldn't have gotten far." Trowa vaguely remembered it as one of Cathy's friends, whom he had never liked at all. He kept listening, but the voices moved away from where the phone was, melting into the din of the party.

The sheer sick delight in those bitches' voices had Trowa storming down the hall stairs with the phone pinned to his ear, looking for his car keys and then moving towards the door.

"Trowa. I'm sorry to call you like this! I don't have anyone else to call…" Quatre sobbed quietly on his side of the phone. He sounded absolutely terrified! Trowa was going to KILL someone!

"What happened to Heero and Duo? They were supposed to be there to protect you!" Trowa hissed, locking the door behind him and jumping into the car.

"Duo left hours ago because he has spring training and Heero's here with me. He couldn't stand me moping around all day and brought me out here. But I don't know what they did to him!"

Uh oh, that sounded bad…

Quatre continued after another little hiccup in his voice, "He's out cold, and he's right here with me. I- I don't know what to do! I can't get a hold of Iria at the hospital! I can't get him out of here on my own and I can't just leave him here and let those girls find him!"

No shit. Trowa didn't know what they were planning, and Quatre probably didn't either, but he seriously doubted it would be good. As much as he hated Heero, he couldn't leave him there! And he certainly couldn't leave Quatre there!

"I'm on my way, Quat. Stay safe. Hide. Are you inside the house?" he asked as he turned on the ignition and flew out of his driveway.

________________________________________________________________

Trowa pulled up as close as he could to the party, driving right onto the perfectly manicured lawn and parking there. There were people everywhere, teens hanging out all over—outside on the lawn, inside the house, on the deck, hanging from a balcony—swarming every square inch of the property like flies.

He hopped out of his jeep, locking it so it would be there when he came back with Quatre, and marched into the house, pushing through the first throng of people crowding at the door. He was faced with a foyer and a staircase in front of him, a kitchen and TV room to one side and a sitting room with large open patio doors leading to the yard on the other side.

Quatre had said that he and Heero were holed up in the front closet, right off the main stairs, hiding under a mass of coats. It was as close to out the front door that Quatre could get them before Heero completely collapsed. Quatre had said, and as much as he wanted out of there, hitching a ride with ANYONE or calling a cab was out of the question, because he wasn't strong enough to lift of even drag Heero out with him. And if Jeff and company found him with Heero like that, he'd be a sitting duck.

Trowa scanned the hall and found the closet door. It was right in front of him, just a few steps away. He was going to get in there, grab Yuy and get Quatre the hell out of there!

But nothing was ever that easy. He took one step towards the door before he heard the familiar drunken giggle of his sister, and there she was, materializing from the living room area with Jeff on one side and a gaggle of other girls and guys on her other. "You actually came, Trowa? I thought you were too upset over losing your little fag-boyfriend. Or are you going to cry on the floor again over him?" She slurred. She was totally plastered, but that didn't stop her from grinning meanly.

Trowa didn't respond to her comment and just glared at her, then slowly brought his glare to Jeff, promising a beating. His temper was going through the ROOF, but he kept it reigned in. Quatre was just feet away and he needed his help. Getting into a fight here wouldn't get Quatre anywhere; that was the only thing keeping Trowa from flying off the handle and launching himself at Jeff and kicking his fucking ass.

"Guess WHAT, baby brother," Cathy drawled with an evil sort of glint in her glazed-over eyes, "Heero fucking Yuy had the balls to show up here."

Jeff jumped in, "Yeah! That asshole had the balls to come here after what he did to Cathy! We're gonna get even with him!"

"We put a little something into his drink, but the little fucker is hiding somewhere." Cathy quickly jumped in, watching her brother closely. She was worried he was going to spill that Heero had nothing to do with Cathy's leg. But he wouldn't do that. Not here. It wasn't the time or the place.

"It's like tag. And he's IT." Jeff laughed, "Help me find him and maybe I won't kick your queer-ass, Barton."

Seriously? Was he really serious? Did Trowa look like an idiot? He just glared. Jeff laughed, smirking, "We're gonna teach him a lesson. Him and that little bitch of his. Sure you don't wanna help?"

Trowa wasn't sure if Jeff meant Duo or Quatre, but in that split second he didn't care one whit which one he meant. Jeff had gone over the line.

He pulled back and shot his fist straight into Jeff's face with all he had, sending the drunk basketball player flying backwards and landing on his ass, splayed out on the hardwood as he reeled from the force of the punch. Trowa may have been a fag and a skater, but he worked out and he knew how to use his strength, "Fuck YOU Jeff. You're one sick little fuck! You and Cathy are meant for each other. If you ever threaten my boyfriend again, or his friends, I'm going to kick your ass so hard you're going to fucking ENJOY it!" he hissed, turning on his heel and moving past the swarm of girls. After seeing how easily Trowa had laid Jeff flat on his ass, they cleared like the red sea!

He was done playing games. He moved through the growing crowd and went straight to the closet and wrenched the door open. Coats and shoes poured out, but amongst all the crap in there was what he had come to find. Quatre. He was in there, looking scared but strong. He looked ready to take on anyone who came near his cousin, but when he locked eyes on Trowa he let a bright smile of relief wash over him. He tried to stand, putting his arms under Heero.

With only one glance Trowa could tell that Heero was NOT okay. His body was slumped awkwardly, his limbs splayed out loosely, and he didn't so much as twitch when his limp body spilled out into the hallway. Quatre was trying to get him up, but Heero was dead weight. He wasn't moving. At all. Trowa couldn't tell if he was even breathing.

Trowa grabbed Yuy under his arms and dragged him out as best as he could. Then he yanked him up and tossed him over his shoulder, firefighter-style. The other skater felt like a rag doll in his arms! But he could feel his chest moving up and down. He was breathing! And his eyes fluttered open to look at Trowa, and then Quatre, and then the crowd gathering around them.

Quatre picked himself up off the floor, brushing his jeans off as he looked around them. His gaze hardened when he saw Cathy and her little army of friends, and he flipped her off. He wasn't done with her. No one fucked with a Winner.

Pissed off and ready to get the hell out of there, Quatre pushed through the crowd with fury, sending people stumbling out of his way as Quatre cleared a way straight to the door for Trowa and Heero.

They were out the door in seconds and onto the lawn. Quatre made a beeline for Trowa's Jeep and didn't look back. He could hear the people inside the house recovering from the shock and cursing angrily. They had to get out of there, NOW, before the angry people inside managed to retaliate.

Trowa had to put Heero down against the side of his jeep to pull out his keys, hitting the unlock button then tossing the keys into the driver's seat so he'd be ready to drive.

Suddenly, Heero convulsed and pitched forward, dropping to his knees on the grass, nearly going face first all the way down, but Trowa and Quatre were quick enough to grab one of his arms each and stop him from crashing. Quatre looked worried. Shit shit shit… Trowa knew this was BAD.

Heero convulsed again, heaving forward and began to throw up. A thick, almost black bile dropped sickeningly from his uncooperative body, then more, and more, and more as he expelled the poison from his system. It looked bad, but the blackness began to clear from his vomit as he went.

On the fifth time, a hand snaked around to grip Trowa's side as Heero's body wretched again. Heero's eyes fluttered open for a moment, looking at Trowa with a sort of wary thankfulness… Trowa smiled tightly and held onto his side as Heero pitched forward once more, dry heaving this time.

His arms were shaking from the strain, but he was in control of them again. The poison was clearing from him, but they didn't have time to waste outside the party. Heero sensed that they weren't safe and pushed with his arms to try and stand, knowing that the people who did this were still close by. Still a danger.

Trowa and Quatre pulled him to his feet and moved like hell. Trowa supported his body while Quatre wrenched open the backseat, and then Quatre climbed in then opened his arms for Heero. Trowa pushed him in as best as he could and Quatre pulled the rest of the way to get him in. Trowa grabbed Heero's dangling legs and pushed them into the back, then slammed the door closed fast. He climbed into the driver's seat, shoving his key into the ignition and turning it over as fast as he could.

The music in his jeep blared to life, but Trowa put it into reverse and hit the gas, getting the hell out of there as fast as he possibly could.

Once they got out of the maze of cars parked all over for the party and onto main roads, Trowa breathed a sigh of relief and allowed himself to look into the back and see his cargo. Quatre smiled weakly up at Trowa, looking worried and upset as he held Heero against him, making sure he didn't fall or anything on his way to puke again. Thankfully, Quatre had managed to grab Trowa's garbage bag from the front while he had been distracted and put it under the ill skater.

"Thanks," Heero managed to say, looking at Trowa as he heaved even while lying down. He looked like death and was turning green, but he was talking, awake, and was able to move on his own now, and that was a step up from how bad he had been just fifteen minutes ago. Trowa didn't know what to say back. He was angry at Heero for putting Quatre in danger, but at the same time he knew very well that there was no way that Heero could have known what was going to happen. And the house party had been held by someone from Heero's school, so it should have been safe. Trowa thought it was safe. But this all happened anyway!

If he hadn't been so wrapped up in being angry, he would have been there right beside Quatre the whole night, and he would have been able to get Heero out of there before anything became an issue. He wanted to blame Heero, but how could he? Really?

Heero convulsed again, grabbing the garbage bag and heaving into it, coughing and sputtering. This time, though, they were at a red light, and Trowa was able to reach under the passenger seat and grab a bottle of water, cracking it open for him before passing it back to his rival with a tight smile. Thankfully, Heero accepted the peace offering with grace, taking a deep swig and then sitting up just enough to spit it out the window to clear the taste from his mouth, and then he took a nice long drink.

"Can you take him to my place? I can't leave him home alone, and Iria should be home in a few hours and she can look at him," Quatre said, catching Trowa just as he was about to turn the wrong way. It occurred to him then that he had simply been driving as far away from that party as possible without any real destination in mind.

Quatre's house sounded logical enough, so he changed his turn signal and went towards Quatre's place. "You're home by yourself too, though, Quatre…" Trowa stated, flicking his eyes into the rearview mirror to look at Quatre. God he missed him. He felt so far away from him, up in the front of his car by himself with Quatre in the back like that… So close and yet so far. But he planned to change that. "You can't handle him by yourself. Do you… want me to stay too? I don't mind." Trowa offered. He felt an excited little thrill take up residence in his stomach… hope. Hoping Quatre would say yes. Hoping that he'd get the chance to apologize properly.

That hope grew larger when Quatre leveled a relieved, thankful smile at him through the mirror, "Thanks Trowa. I don't know what I would do without you."

Trowa, though, squirmed in his seat. It was pretty clear to him that if he had been there, all of this shit wouldn't have happened.

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AN: Thank you for reading! I know it's a short chapter, but the next one will make up for it, I promise, and it will be up very soon! Please leave a review! I LOVE reviews! It's your way to let me know that you appreciate all the blood, sweat, and tears put into fic writing.


	21. Chapter 21

**Keep in Time**

_Dentelle_noir_

**Summary**: AU 3x4. A suspicious accident leaves Trowa without a skating partner, sentencing him to a year without competition. Quatre is an injured dancer, trying to find a way to live without his joy. Together, they make new rules and find a new path.

Chapter Rating: **M**

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**Chapter 21**

The trip back to Quatre's house after the party wasn't too exciting, but getting Heero inside and put to bed had been exhausting. It had taken Trowa nearly twenty minutes to manoeuvre the rubber-legged Heero out of the jeep, into the house, and up the stairs because Heero kept stubbornly insisting on doing it himself. If he had just let Trowa carry him, he would have been upstairs in moments! But Heero was stubborn. Trowa had to admit, he respected that about him.

He tucked Heero into the guest-room bed, making sure the garbage pail Quatre had found was near him and a cold cloth was on his head, and then he sighed. He wanted to be mad at Heero, but he couldn't. He hadn't done anything that Trowa wouldn't have done if the situation had been reversed. It wasn't Heero's fault that Quatre was nearly hurt.

But Quatre really had been nearly-hurt. If Trowa had been there, at the party, he could have driven them out of there. They would have had backup. He would have been there to help. But he hadn't been there. Because he himself was being stubborn about the situation.

If he was being honest with himself, he could admit that his hatred of Heero Yuy really stemmed from jealousy. He used to train with the intent to beat Heero Yuy, to do better than him, to show him that Dimitri was a better coach and Trowa was a better skater, despite not having the best gear, or rink, or thousand-dollar skates. He had always managed to keep his jealousy to a slow growing resentment that simmered just below the surface, and he had been able to mold that jealously into a competitive rivalry that worked to keep him sharp. But when he saw Yuy with his lover, it had been too much. He flew off the handle. He let his temper control him. And because of it, Quatre could have been hurt.

And Trowa could have lost the best thing that ever happened to him.

As it was, he had no idea where he stood in regards to Quatre. The uncertainty was killing him. Trowa couldn't handle much more emotional limbo! He had to step up and break the ice if he wanted to get over it. Quatre had made it clear that he wanted Trowa, but not at the expense of his family. And Trowa respected him more for that.

He moved out of the spare room and towards Quatre's room. He knew he would be there; he nearly always was. Trowa wasn't surprised to see him sitting on his bed. He had changed into a pair of soft PJ pants and a light cotton tank top, but his bed was still made. He was hugging a pillow to his chest, looking far away in the direction of his computer screen as it cycled through pictures of happy times, but Trowa wasn't even sure if he was seeing the pictures at all.

He looked so sad, it broke Trowa's heart.

Trowa walked into the room without knocking and took a seat at the computer chair, sitting backwards in it so he could rest his arms on the back and put his chin on it, "I tucked Heero into bed, and made sure there was a bucket for him. He looks way better now. I bet he got all the crap out of his system, and there's nothing to worry about." He tried to reassure him.

Quatre smiled softly, sadly, "Thank you, Trowa. I know you hate him. But it really does mean a lot to me that you helped. You can go home now."

Seriously? Did Quatre think he was going to give up that easily? Not if Trowa had anything to do with it. "I'm not going anywhere. I finally have you again, for a little while at least. Stop being so stubborn. You're just as bad as Yuy! You MUST be related," he teased lightly, trying to elicit a little smile.

It worked like a charm, and Quatre smiled softly, laughing just a little as he nodded, "Yep. My father said that I got my stubbornness from Heero, and Heero's parents think that he got his stubbornness from me. Naturally, neither my father nor Heero's parents are willing to change their minds on the subject. They're both quite stubborn."

Trowa chuckled, smiling himself, relaxing a little. Quatre, too, settled a bit, putting his pillow down and facing towards Trowa, his hands idly playing with the hem of his PJ pants, "It was quite a love story, if you would believe it. My mother's sister… She met Hikaru Yuy at a costume ball. Just like Romeo and Juliet without the tragedy, you know? Except it was good business for those two families to merge; the Yuy family is very influential in Japan, and my mother's family has always been old money. But they really were head over heels for each other. And still are."

Quatre smiled, looked towards the other room where Heero was sleeping, and continued on, "Heero was born not long after the marriage, and he's always been part of Winner family functions. He's always been there for me. He was born only a few months before me, so our parents used to have play dates with us together, we got our first bicycles at the same time, we were forced to attend the same picnics and functions and fundraisers. Heero argued for me to join ballet, and I used to help him practice lifts for his skating. He was there when my mother died. I was there when he came out of the closet. He was there when I broke my toes and had to hear that I wouldn't be able to dance again."

Quatre's tone turned serious, and he looked straight at Trowa, "I like you, Trowa. A lot. Probably more than just 'like' but I'm sorry. I'm not giving up my best friends just to be with you. Or dancing just to skate with you. I love dancing. I have to be true to myself. I am a dancer. And my friends, my real friends, know that. I can't give up dancing. Or my friends."

After a few moments, Trowa finally spoke, meaning every word, "I never should have asked you to," He began, licking his lips and weighing his words carefully. "I was wrong. And jealous. And upset. And I never should have acted like that. I let my temper fly, and behaved like a spoiled diva. Actually, I behaved like Cathy would have. And because of it, I very nearly lost you. And I never want you to give up dance. It is who you are, and I never want you to change. You're the best thing that's happened to me in years, Quatre. I don't want to lose you."

Quatre looked like he was on the brink of tears, and he began to reach for the pillow again to hold it for comfort.

Instead, Trowa stood from the chair and walked over to the bed, sitting down beside Quatre, "Are we okay now, baby?" He reached out and touched Quatre's hand.

Quatre took up the offer immediately, entwining their fingers and holding Trowa's hand tightly. But he was still upset and crying just a little, "Trowa… We're far from okay."

Trowa felt his heart drop into his stomach, but he squeezed Quatre's hand reassuringly. He wasn't going anywhere. They had to work through this. He refused to leave until they did, damn it! He wasn't going to let Quatre go without a fight.

Sensing that, Quatre turned towards him, curling up against his chest and putting his head on Trowa's shoulder, letting his tears fall there until he settled down enough to talk. Trowa just held him, slowly rocking as he hummed gently. It worked like a charm, and Quatre melted against him, taking a few short, calming breaths. "Trowa… I want to be with you. But even if we both apologize for the fight at the rink and the misunderstandings after, in the end… Heero is still my cousin. Relena is still my friend. Duo will always be my best friend. And you are still rivals with Team Lowe. Your sister poisoned him tonight, Trowa! You have nothing to do with her now, but what are you going to do when Cathy's cast comes off? What about your skating career? Or my dancing career? We can't just say 'sorry' and then all this shit will magically go away and we live happily ever after!"

Trowa thought about that, quietly holding Quatre as he considered it all. He had good points. All of them. And there wasn't some magic answer to it all. Quatre began to run his fingers through Trowa's hair absently, almost as if he knew Trowa needed the little extra support. And he did. He needed to choose where his loyalties lay and deal with the consequences. No one could make the decision for him.

The thought was a frightening one for him. Hell, when he first met Quatre he didn't even buy his own clothes, let alone make life decisions! He had been content to just coast along and wait for Cathy or someone else to tell him what to do. But that wasn't enough for Quatre. Quatre wasn't going to make decisions for him. Ever since he met Quatre his world had been turned upside down.

But he had learned from him. Learned about his sister, learned about friendship and love, but most of all he had learned about being true to himself. Quatre had taught him how to go after what he loved and to take shit from no one.

When Trowa opened his mouth, he knew exactly what to say.

"Heero is my rival, but that doesn't make him my enemy. He cares about you about as much as I do, so I guess I'm going to learn to trust him."

Quatre smiled brightly, his eyes lighting up and he snuggled against him, kissing his neck. But Trowa wasn't done. He had started taking control of his life and he wasn't about to stop, "Listen. This thing with us? It means so much more than getting along with other skaters. It means that I'm done with Cathy. Done listening to her, done doing things for her, and certainly done skating with her, cast or no cast. I know who my real friends are now, and I know who is really looking out for my best interests. On Monday, I know who I'll trust, and I know who I'll want to eat lunch with. I know who I want to skate with. I know who I LOVE. And that's you. You're the only one I want to be with."

Trowa leaned back, bringing Quatre with him, laying the two of them down in the bed as he watched Quatre's face. He was looking at him with a sort of proud affection, and he followed Trowa down to the bed easily, snuggling up beside him and pressing his lips against Trowa's softly. Then he slid his hand up into his hair and deepened the kiss.

Trowa slid closer to him, pressing their bodies together and melted into the kiss, taking control of it and using tongue, teeth, and lips to make Quatre's breath hitch and his hands tighten in his hair. "I missed you," Trowa whispered between kisses, slowly pushing Quatre to his back on the bed.

Quatre barely knew how to react to this more dominant, aggressive Trowa, but he was loving every moment. He tangled his legs around Trowa's and urged him on for more, panting a hungry "Missed you too," as he yanked at Trowa's shirt to get it off.

Trowa pulled off of Quatre just long enough to take it off, tossing it somewhere on the bed as he stared at Quatre. Trowa's eyes were wolf-like, hungry and intense, and Quatre's cock twitched in appreciation. He panted, watching Trowa hungrily back, waiting to see what his lover would surprise him with next.

"Say you'll take me back." Trowa demanded, pinning Quatre to the bed with his body weight and tugging Quatre's tank top off, tossing it to the floor and then attacking his neck and chest with hot, desperate kisses.

Quatre arched up into him­­­, gasping in surprise and pleasure, his whole body on fire for Trowa's touches, going wild for this new aggression in his lover and soaking up every moment. "Yes!" Quatre groaned, flicking his hips up against Trowa's stomach for more.

But Trowa wasn't taking that as an answer. He yanked Quatre's jeans open and slid his hand down, making his lover scream in pleasure. And then he stopped.

He waited, just holding him, and asked again, quiet but incessant, "Say it. Say you'll take me back. We'll be together again."

Quatre was shaking all over, complete putty in Trowa's hands, and he would have said anything to get him to continue. He couldn't have disagreed even if he wanted. But he didn't want to disagree. "God Trowa, you know I want to be with you! You're still my boyfriend as far as I'm concerned, and I'm head over heels for you. FUCK, do that again!" he growled in frustration, thrusting upwards into Trowa's hands for more, finally getting the friction he desired.

Trowa grinned, and leant forward to steal hungry kisses from his neck, all the way up to his lips, and captured his mouth in a hungry, passionate kiss as he stroked him hard and fast, knowing how Quatre liked to be touched and using everything he knew to make him go wild under him.

With all of the attention, it was no surprised that Quatre could barely do anything but hold onto Trowa's shoulders and ride out the pleasure, writhing beneath him and moaning louder and lustier with each stroke. He could barely hold out, though, and Trowa was making him go wild! He came far too soon with a shattering scream, coating Trowa's hand and his stomach with his essence as he rode out his climax, chanting Trowa's name like a mantra, clinging to his lover as the aftershocks of pleasure tingled through him like a live wire.

"Wow." Quatre gasped, finding his voice again, panting into Trowa's neck as they relaxed on the bed, "If I knew I'd get that sort of treatment every time I agreed to date you, I'd break up with you way more often."

"Oh YEAH?!" Trowa grinned, taking up the challenge. He laughed as he nipped at Quatre's neck, biting teasingly, and then he began to suck, working to make a nice big hickey in retaliation. Quatre squirmed out of his grip, smacking his arm in protest before rubbing the sting out. "You better not have left a mark that Iria can see, Trowa, or I swear to GOD I'm going to murder you!"

He didn't look frightened; actually, Trowa looked pretty damn proud of himself and snuggled closer to Quatre, kissing him properly to silence his protests. He ran his fingers through Quatre's hair, watching him affectionately, "I meant it, Quatre. What I said earlier… I know who I love, and that's you. I love you, Quatre."

Quatre inhaled sharply, blinking back tears as he looked into Trowa's eyes. Slowly, though, he began to smile. Soft and hesitant at first, the smile slowly grew larger and larger until he was beaming in happiness. Then he launched himself at Trowa, hugging him tightly and peppering his face with kisses, nearly crushing him with his hug. "I love you too, Trowa. I love you too."

Trowa hugged him back, a grin on his own face as he kissed Quatre back just as feverishly, then he slowly relaxed into a soft, passionate kiss, breaking off just to gaze into his eyes and snuggle on the bed with him, smiling like a loon.

Quatre moved to snuggle closer, wanting to be as close to Trowa as he could. That's when he felt a poke in his hip. Looking down, he was surprised to see Trowa's cock still jutting out, hard as a rock and weeping from neglect. Trowa blushed hotly, looking down too, "Um... sorry…"

Laughing merrily, Quatre pushed forward and captured Trowa's lips, and then wrapped his hand around his cock and worked to get him off for the first time that night- The first of many. After so long apart, they could barely get enough of each other, and fooled around until both of them were too exhausted to move. They didn't even hear Heero getting up to puke, or Iria coming home from working nights, or even Heero waking up and walking in to check on them. They were dead to the world, sound asleep and curled around each other so tightly that nothing could get between them. Ever.

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Trowa woke first, but Quatre wasn't far behind, stretching out beside his boyfriend and then looking up at him with bright, shining eyes, "Hey handsome."

"Hey yourself," Trowa purred as he stretched his neck, and snuggled closer to his lover, kissing his neck, his ears, and down his collarbone as his hands began to slide against his flesh under the blankets, sliding inwards towards his cock.

Only then did Quatre notice that his bedroom door was wide open. Why would he do that?

"HEERO!" Suddenly Quatre remembered that he had wanted to be able to listen for sounds of distress. And he didn't even know if Heero had woken yet! Quatre had fallen asleep after he and Trowa fooled around, and he hadn't woken at all to check on him in hours.

Quatre jumped up out of bed and ran towards the guest bedroom, his half-on PJ pants slipping from his hips as he moved. But the guest room was empty now, the bed was made, and Iria's bedroom door was closed. She must have come home without Quatre waking. Quatre went off to check on the state of the bathroom, worried for the mess, and left his yawning boyfriend to his own devices.

Trowa walked out of the room at a much more sedate pace, catching a kiss at the back of Quatre's neck as he padded by, moving downstairs and fixing his jeans. His shirt, though, was long lost amongst Quatre's bedding and he wasn't quite awake enough to go and look for it. He made his way to the kitchen and automatically began to look for cereal. It was just after 7am, and the night had been very, very long. It was no surprise that he wasn't quite awake yet. Usually a shower helped him wake up, but Quatre had been in there, and he didn't really have anything to change into if he did have a shower. And what was the point of showering if he was going to put dirty clothes back on anyway?

After stumbling around a little, he found a box of Corn Flakes. Success! His next mission was to find the milk. He opened the fridge... But it wasn't there… Where was the milk? It was way too early to be problem solving!

A grunt alerted him to another presence in the kitchen, and there sat Heero Yuy at the kitchen island with a bowl of Mini-Wheats cereal in front of him, and the milk beside him. He was dressed- or rather, undressed- similarly to Trowa, wearing his jeans and no shirt, hair mussed and eyes sleepily glazed from a late night and early morning.

There was a time, not too long ago, that finding Heero Yuy at the breakfast table would have been the stuff of Trowa's nightmares, but now? He just padded over to the table with the box of cereal and a bowl. He nicked a spoon on his way and straddled one of the bar-style stools in the kitchen and began to shake the flakes into the bowl. Heero pushed the milk towards him, and Trowa accepted it easily, pouring it over his cereal and digging in happily.

"You and Quatre made up, then?" Heero asked first, still eating his own bowl of cereal. "I heard moans all night."

"Yep," Trowa responded slowly, munching, smiling a little thinking about it.

Heero lifted a brow, then grunted, accepting the fact that Trowa was fooling around with his best friend. If the sounds coming from the bedroom hadn't been enough, the love bites and marks dotting Trowa's bare chest would have given it away anyway. But he accepted it. He had to. Quatre had been so sad when Trowa wasn't around.

"You done being pissed at me?" Heero asked.

After a few moments of quiet, Trowa looked at Heero, "You care about Quatre, just like I do. We need to get along, or he'll be mad. Plus, I know your team had nothing to do with Cathy's injury. I don't really have any valid reason to hate you anymore."

A few moments passed as Heero processed that, and then nodded, "Nope. It was just an accident." Heero replied.

Trowa shrugged, but didn't correct him. He stirred his flakes and took a bite, "Quatre was worried about you last night. You were pretty wrecked."

"Thanks for helping. Quatre couldn't have done it on his own. He's not strong enough to haul my ass around," Heero said quietly and slowly fished for the last mini-wheat in the sea of milk. He looked like he was steering a toy boat, or just avoiding the topic by dunking the mini shredded wheat into the milk and watching it pop back up.

After a few moments of distraction, Heero looked up and locked eyes with Trowa, "You're… a good guy, Trowa."

Trowa was surprised, and he looked up at Heero over the breakfast table. He didn't really deserve that praise, "I haven't been acting like it lately. I was a brat at the party. I shouldn't have made him choose."

"We sorta did the same thing to him, though, in not so many words. Relena, Duo and I…We were instantly hostile to you, and we weren't willing to let our guards down, either. He was really pissed at us about it too, but we came to a bit of a standstill on it. I never did apologize. I didn't like that he was with you. You're my rival, you know?" Heero admitted, "But he missed you a lot. I sorta… had to get over it. I love my cousin. You being gone made him sad. So I sucked it up, got over it, and hoped for the best. But you aren't as bad a guy as I thought you were. I never thought that you would show up to help me."

Trowa stirred his flakes again, feeling a little embarrassed at the attention, not really knowing what to say. So he went for the truth, "I would have helped anyone in that situation. If I knew them or not. Even you. Even if you hadn't been with Quatre, I'd have helped you out. I couldn't let someone go through that."

Heero smiled softly and finally ate the last of his breakfast, "I see that now. You're different than I thought you were. I've never been happier to be proven wrong about someone."

"Honestly? I'm glad that I could help. I don't want to even consider what Jeff and his idiot friends were up to. Cathy's changed since her injury… It's like I don't even know her. Or I never really knew her before. She's cruel now. I wouldn't have left anyone at her mercy. And really, it worked out for me, because Quatre and I had a chance to talk, and now I have him back again."

Heero nodded slowly, looking Trowa up and down, "Yeah... You two are back together… but he's not going to stop being my friend. We've been friends since childhood."

"Since footie pajamas." A clear, soft voice entered the conversation.

Quatre walked into the kitchen, watching the two skaters. A day ago, he thought that they hated each other, and now they seemed to be bonding. The whole scene reminded him of Duo and Heero's first meeting. They had hated each other at first too, and then Quatre had to lock them together in the basement for them to work it out. Apparently for Trowa and Heero to work it out, mortal peril had to be involved.

Whatever; At least it worked. "Where's my cereal?"

Trowa and Heero both lifted the boxes in front of them and Quatre wandered over to the table with his bowl and spoon in hand. He chose Heero's Mini-Wheats, and then sat on Trowa's side of the kitchen island. He poured the milk and began to play footsies with Trowa under the table.

Heero smiled, watching the way Trowa practically glowed when Quatre was around. His eyes followed Quatre's every move, and he smiled goofily when Quatre touched him under the table. The skater was like a love-sick puppy when Quatre was around! It would have been pathetic to watch if Heero hadn't been happy to see Quatre being treated like a prince. Trowa was head over heels for him. How could Heero stay mad at the guy who loved his cousin so much? He needed to try and patch this Lowe/Barton rift up, for Quatre's sake. "So, Trowa, what music are you going to skate to for the Gala?"

Surprised, Trowa brought his attention away from Quatre's feet and looked at Heero with a hint of confusion and a healthy dose of suspicion.

Heero lifted a brow and tried to clarify, "…The Gala performance? It's a tradition from our school. We put one on every year and all the skaters perform. Last year we were able to put a moving dance floor on the ice so we had dancers perform too. It was really popular, and we're doing it again. It's not a competition, meaning we allow words to the music and some of the more risky moves to be performed. There's no one there to play skate-cop or anything. It's just for fun. So, what music are you going to skate to?"

"It's invitational," Trowa replied tightly. That was the nicest way he could think of to say 'I've never been invited.' He knew all about the Gala. It was an annual fundraiser for the private school's athletic departments and he knew it was being held in another month at the Lowe Rink. The thought of participating had never even crossed his mind, and quite frankly, a few days ago the thought of participating would have turned his stomach in jealousy. It was well known to be a Lowe Rink event, after all.

Heero thought, "Well… it's always been open to all students of the private school, but, since it's all one school now, you qualify. You should skate. It's just a gala. Not a competition. No one's going to score you or anything."

Trowa through about that for a moment… and he turned to look at Quatre.

Quatre blinked, looking left, then right comically, "What? Is there something in my teeth? Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked warily.

"Skate with me." Trowa asked, watching Quatre intently, "We're good together. Skate with me at the Gala. No one can stop us, because Gala's don't go by national figure skating rules."

Surprised, Quatre looked to Heero, then to Trowa, and then to Heero again, "Would we be allowed?"

Heero looked little surprised to be put on the spot, but as he thought about it, he began to smile, "I'll have to clear it with Relena, but I think that'd be great. I think you'd be good together."

Trowa grinned a little as he looked at Heero over the breakfast table, a little thrill of friendly competition tingling up his spine again. Him and Quatre against Heero Yuy and Relena, eh? Sounded like fun.

"Oh. We are good. We're _very_ good together." Trowa purred, smirking. "Scared, Yuy?"

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**AN:** A nice long chapter to make up for the last smaller ones. There's only one more chapter to go, and then that's it! *sniffle*

Please review.


	22. Chapter 22 Final

**Keep in Time**

_Dentelle_noir_

**Summary**: AU 3x4. A suspicious accident leaves Trowa without a skating partner, sentencing him to a year without competition. Quatre is an injured dancer, trying to find a way to live without his joy. Together, they make new rules and find a new path. **LAST CHAPTER**

Chapter Rating: **M**

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**Chapter Twenty Two**

The next month leading up to the Gala was a whirlwind. With a reason to work, and a deadline in mind, Trowa and Quatre spent nearly every spare minute training for the show with a new drive for excellence. Relena volunteered to make their costumes, but Trowa turned her down with a smirk. He was finished letting other people pick out his clothing. Quatre and he decided on their own music, their own costumes, and the lighting. Dimitri had watched Trowa work with a proud grin, and then left them to their own devices.

Petra went into labour after about two weeks of practice, leaving Trowa free reign over his practice time at the rink while she had the baby and Dimitri spent nearly every minute at her bedside. It was perfect timing, because he was able to devote more time to his "special" project. Quatre didn't even know that Trowa was planning something behind his back, since Trowa had the ice time to himself while Quatre kept attending his stretch class—he would always be a dancer who was just doing this skating until he was able to dance again, but Trowa would always be a skater. And that worked for them.

Training with Quatre everyday for the next month had been wonderful for Trowa. He got to see him as much as he wanted, and slowly he began to pick up some skills from the dancer that he could use in skating too. They learned from each other, and worked to create a performance that would highlight both of their strengths. Quatre still couldn't land a lot of his jumps after only a month of training, but Trowa was very good at catching his partner in mid-air, so they choreographed in twist lifts, where Trowa would catch him, side-by-side elements to highlight their harmony, and especially Quatre's favorite elements- spinning lifts and drags.

With July, Heero, Duo, and their friends from dance class supporting them, neither Trowa nor Quatre worried about Jason or Jeff making problems anymore. Plus, Quatre got his revenge on Cathy and Jason at the same time—it was all over the school that Jeff and Jason were caught fooling around at a party, and the rumor mill just kept churning out new theories about the supposed love triangle. Quatre denied having anything to do with starting the rumor, but Trowa could tell he was lying. He always smirked a little when he claimed innocence.

Duo still didn't like Trowa much, but they learned to get along, especially after Trowa agreed to practice being a goalie for Duo so he could practice his scoring. Trowa usually ended up bruised from the soccer ball in new, painful ways, but he did it all out of love for Quatre. When soccer season started and Duo, naturally, made star forward again, he finally let Trowa out of goalie duty and the two of them came to a tentative sort of ceasefire. Neither wanted to admit that they were growing on each other, but they were. Slowly. But a few days before the Gala, Trowa trusted Duo enough to bring him aside and tell him what he had been planning. He would need Duo's help. And he got it.

________________________________________________________________

The night of the Gala was upon them before any of them seemed ready, and the Lowe Rink was decorated with soft star-style lights and plush tapestries to make the ice rink look more like a stage than a sporting arena. The back, though, still looked like locker rooms, but Trowa just loved the sounds of opening-night chaos. It was the creative genius at work. And it was the pinnacle of all their hard work that month. This was opening night and the final performance all rolled up into one. It was everything. And Trowa thrived on the challenge.

People were running around, bumping into each other and cursing as they tried to find their things. Quatre and Trowa had been pushed to the side a little since they were ready, and they watched it with a confident smile. Heero and Relena were already at the entrance to the rink, ready to go on. They went on first, as always. Heero was dressed in a matrix-style costume with Relena comfortable in a matching style that showed off her attributes. Their skate was going to be fantastic. He and Quatre were on next, and they had to line up at the entrance, so they got to watch the skate. Heero and Relena really were seamless, wonderful skaters, and wonderful friends. Relena even had come to be friends with Trowa after having met him again. She was a real classy girl, and when Heero told her how Trowa had helped him out, she gave Trowa a formal apology for her behavior at the party. As soon as they got over their rivalry, they found out how much in common they had, and Relena became as fiercely protective over Trowa as she had been over Heero and Quatre. On the ice she used that fire and passion, and exploded onto the rink. Her and Heero were an incredibly team, and instead of being jealous, he was glad to be able to call them friends.

Duo had the microphone for the night and introduced them as they came on, and the music flared to life as they took the ice. Behind the scenes, though, the tension kicked into high gear as the other performers had to scurry to be ready for their allotted time. Trowa and Quatre, though, were already set up to go on, just waiting for their turn. They held each other's hands for reassurance, Trowa making sure that Quatre was calm and confident, and they peeked out to see the crowd waiting all around.

Trowa could see everyone's eyes watching the pair on the ice, gasping when Heero tossed Relena up and she completed the complicated tripple lutz and then landed with a flourish. Cathy was up there, one crutch still in hand, her leg taking up more room. She was probably taking notes, in hopes of using it 'against' Team Lowe in the future. But she had no idea that there wouldn't be any future for her in skating. Not after all she had done. Trowa wouldn't skate with her again, and unless she found another partner who was willing to put up with her shit, he doubted she would make it in the singles skating world. She was cutthroat enough to survive, yes, but she lacked the passion for the sport that drove skaters through their best performances. He felt sorry for her, really. But he hadn't been able to tell her that; she had effectively stopped speaking to him after he had stood up to her so publically at the merge party, and Trowa thought that she was planning to move in with Jeff. He sincerely hoped not… as much as he didn't want to skate with her again, she was still his sister, and he hoped the best for her. But he was finished letting her walk all over him.

July, though, had shown her drive to skate and her ability to survive in the skating world. And she was good. She had just been bumped up into Petra's advanced figure skating class: She was being trained to compete in the regional championships now, and then the state championships, and then nationals. She would do wonderfully, Trowa knew. And she was going to get a chance to show off her skills before the intermission.

Dimitri and Petra were also in the crowd, with the new baby in her mother's arms. They named her Ilyana, and she had Dimitri wrapped around her little tiny finger already. He was at the baby's beck and call every moment of every day, and instead of being resentful, he loved every minute of it. Trowa wondered if it would stay that way, but, knowing how nurturing the Russian always had been, he had a feeling that he always would be looking after his little princess. And while that meant that Trowa got less of Dimitri's time, he didn't mind so much, now that he had Quatre to support him too. Dimitri hadn't wanted Petra or the baby out of the house so soon after the birth, but Petra wouldn't miss this performance. She seemed to know what Trowa was going to do, even if Dimitri hadn't seemed to figure it out yet.

Heero and Relena finished their routine and the audience roared with applause, tossing down roses and gifts for the star pair. Two of the younger skaters ran out on the ice to collect it all as Duo took the mic again, smiling brightly, "Next up, we have a new pair to this Gala. Most of us have never seen them skate together, unless you happened to be in their gym class," Duo joked, grinning like a fool. A laugh went up in the crowd from the few people who had been there at the beginning of Quatre and Trowa's career; Coach's deep chuckle could be heard loudly over it all. But Duo wasn't finished, "This is a first- that I know of, at least- for skating. A two-male pair. Our very own star-crossed lovers from this very high school! Trowa Barton and Quatre Winner, performing tonight, and probably only tonight. So put your hands together, and let's welcome them to our ice!"

The applause was deafening. Loud and boisterous, echoing off the walls. There were old friends, new friends, teachers, rivals, dancers, skaters, athletes and the non-athletes all there, all clapping for them. Most people had heard that they were performing. The scandal of it all had been the talk of the school for weeks, but because of it, the turn out at the Gala was massive. They had sold nearly every seat, and it became the social event of the month.

Trowa and Quatre went out onto the ice as the lights darkened. Trowa pressed a kiss to Quatre's cheek, holding his hand tight to reassure him, then pushed away, leaving just Quatre in center ice for the beginning of the performance. The crowd died down, and the rink became quiet…

The first chords of their song began to play. Soft, angelic piano played, and the spotlight lit Quatre. He posed in the middle of the rink, wearing all white. There were hints of light blue trimming to give his costume shape, mimicking the flowing patterns of robes on the tight white body suit. He stood straight, feet in perfect fifth position and his arms held aloft, making a perfect halo around his head. He looked like a classical ballerina in a music box… And he always would. He was a dancer through and through. Dancing was what he did. It was in his bones, and in his heart.

The sounds of voices joined the piano, singing higher than most people could reach, melodious and flowing… Quatre slowly dropped one arm, than the other, mimicking a flower in bloom. Half the audience was unsure if he was going to skate or dance… Then he pushed out of his position to make a slow, looping turn around the ice while the voices of the song began to gain enough volume to be understood.

"_I saw her today at the reception. A glass of wine in her hand. I knew she was going to meet her connection. At her feet was a footloose man. Now you can't always get what you want, you can't always get what you want… but if you try sometimes, you'll find. You get what you need…"_

The guitar started, and a second spotlight turned on. Trowa kicked off from his position, building up speed right from the beginning. He wore tight black breeches and an open, white poet's shirt that flowed and rippled behind him as he moved. He looked part ethereal, part human. He began to give chase to Quatre, speeding up as the song did, the spotlight widening until the whole rink was bathes in a hazy white light. He moved with the music, turning, jumping, and showing off his axels and one-footed tricks as he tried to woo the angel, who kept dancing out of his reach. Quatre was very good at skating along in front of him, matching the pace of the song, flowing along with it as if he were part of it, letting Trowa catch him just long enough to pick him up and complete a stunning lift that made the crowd clap and gasp, then he would dance out of the way again, moving faster, more playful, more rock and roll as the song picked up and the drums came in, filling the arena with the classic Rolling Stones song.

Together, they flew around the rink, moving in harmony with each other and the music, leaning into turns and pulling off complicated step sequences. The song was seven minutes, but the time just flew by. Trowa held onto him and threw him into the air, catching him spectacularly and pushing against the ice faster, always growing faster and faster. It was just like their relationship, slow to warm up, and always growing, getting stronger and stronger as time went on and they learned from each other. Trowa had taught Quatre a lot of the footing, but Quatre had taught Trowa nearly everything about using his arms, making small movements look poetic, and the value of finishing touches. Quatre had taught him so much… And so much more than just skating.

Trowa looked up in the stands and scanned the crowd. He could see Duo, grinning and rocking along to the song. He saw Jason's hair- now neon green instead of purple- and he was flirting with Jeff, even though the guy looked ready to punch him. Dimitri and Petra were further back, but he knew they were watching. He knew they were smiling. Quatre and Trowa really did make poetry on the ice.

Cathy looked livid as she watched Trowa and Quatre move around the ice as if they were one being. Elegant. In tune with each other. Flawless. Sure, Quatre's landings needed work, and Trowa still tended to lift him a touch too early, but they knew each other, and knew their song. They could do anything when they were together.

Before Trowa had met Quatre, he thought that he would be happy if only Cathy would come back… but he had grown so much more since then, because of Quatre. Quatre was what he needed, and Quatre needed him too.

"_You can't always get what you want... You can't always get what you want. But if you try sometimes, you just might find… You get what you need!"_

They sailed together, now, Trowa's hand on the small of Quatre's back as they flicked their hips with attitude and kept moving, teasing, flirting with each other as they danced, the angel-voices striking up louder, working with the guitar and drums as if coaxing each skater for more. And they delivered, kicking up speed before Trowa lifted Quatre up high, over his head, and banked into a tight spin, whirling Quatre around in the air in celebration. The music swelled behind them in crescendo, and Quatre kicked his arms out behind him, giving him the allusion of wings as they spun.

"_But if you try some times, you just might find. You just might find! You get what you need!"_

The music ended, the lights centered on Quatre and Trowa, posing in the middle of the rink. Quatre jumped down from Trowa's arms and skated beside him, holding his hand and then lifting it high. Together they bowed… and the crowd went wild.

Quatre clutched Trowa's hand tightly and leaned in to give him a kiss, closing his eyes softly, "You are what I need, Trowa." He purred. Trowa tugged Quatre's hand, leading him to the exit of the ice and helping him over the bump, staying as close to him as he could.

Once they were off the stage, Trowa turned to him, smiling, and then he captured a slow, lingering kiss from his lips. But it was short lasting. July and Relena ran over to them, hugging them tightly and jumping in excitement. "You did wonderful!" July exclaimed, hugged them each tightly, and then ran towards the entrance—she was going on next, apparently. But Trowa was happy for her support, no matter how spastic it was.

Heero took her place, giving Trowa and Quatre a warm smile, "You did good, Barton. A little sloppy on the lifts, though…" he teased.

Trowa grinned, teasing back good naturedly, "Yeah, you did good too, Yuy. A little slow on your step-sequences…."

Quatre rolled his eyes and smacked Trowa's arm playfully, then moved to the benches. He worked his skates off and began to strip out of the uncomfortable costume. He was slow… deliberate… and now that the stress from the performance was lifted from his shoulders it seemed that something heavier was there.

Quatre pulled on his jeans as Heero and Trowa bantered, and tossed a T-shirt on, then sat beside his backpack. He stroked the pink ribbon always adorning it- his mother's dance-shoe ribbon- and then he held the pair of beautiful white skates he had performed in tonight. Holding one skate, he began to unlace it, pulling the lace out carefully. Trowa and Heero noticed, and began to grow alarmed, "Quatre?"

"I'm going to miss skating" He replied carefully, with a hint of nervousness behind his words.

Trowa, Heero, and Relena all looked at him in confusion. Quatre just looked at Trowa… He never wanted to hurt Trowa, and so he waited for the Gala to be finished before he told him. But now he had to say it, or he would chicken out.

Trowa took a seat across from Quatre, looking at him worriedly, near-panicking, "Were you hurt?! I didn't notice anything off!"

Quatre shook his head no, and then he slipped off his socks and extended his foot, resting it in Trowa's lap. He hadn't done that before. He had always been so ashamed of his toes. The breaks had looked terrible, red and crooked.

A little stunned, Trowa looked down, surprise written all over his face. He had been expecting the worst, but when he looked, Quatre's feet looked… Normal. The swelling was gone, the breaks seemed to have finally healed. Trowa carefully brought his hands up, touching his instep and slowly bringing his fingers up to feel his toes. Fine. They felt… Perfectly fine, "You aren't hurt. Your feet are better…"

Quatre nodded slowly, looking sad, "I noticed about a week ago. I told you that the skating was helping me. It didn't strain my feet, but I still got to dance. I've missed a lot of dance classes because of ice time, and before I even realized, the pain was completely gone in my feet. I tried them out a few days ago… I can dance again. No pain. Iria has already called Julliard… they're willing to allow me another audition in June… It's the best dance school in the country… I'm sorry, Trowa… I don't think I'll be able to skate with you anymore, please don't be upset. I just love to dance so much. It's my whole life."

Trowa, though, wasn't upset in the least, he smiled brightly, excitedly, "Oh, QUAT! That's wonderful! You're going to do wonderful at that audition." Trowa said with determination, looking straight into Quatre's eyes, "You deserve it. You're going to do wonderful. You're going to be a headlining dancer, Quatre. Your name up in lights and everything."

Quatre let out a relieved sort of sob, and he moved to wrap his arms around Trowa, hugging him tightly, crying into his neck a little. "I was so worried you would be angry…"

"Never," Trowa said, kissing his neck, holding him tightly, "I knew this wasn't forever for you. Skating is my dream, not yours. I'm not angry at all. I'm so happy for you, baby! You're going to be a globetrotting dancer, performing in the biggest stages all around the world, and I can come see you when we're in the same cities when I tour. It'll be great! Then maybe when our careers stabilize a little, we can pick a city that has their own ballet troupe and a good rink, and we can settle down together."

Quatre began to kiss him, over and over and over, putting all his love, his passion, and his relief into it. Trowa kissed back happily, a smile tugging at his lips.

Around them, chaos of the backstage erupted. It was the intermission, and the new sets of dancers came on, the next round of skaters came inside and the few repeating skaters had to get ready to go on the ice again. And that meant Heero and Relena had to go.

Trowa kissed Quatre tightly, then pulled away, smirking brightly, mischievously. "Change into your clothes and go watch the performances from the stands, Quat." He pulled out a ticket from his bag. It had a green stripe on it, and Quatre frowned. It was a front-row ticket. The seat was printed clearly on the front… a corner seat, right beside the entrance and exit. Why would Trowa purchase a ticket when they were only seeing the last half?

Quatre looked at the ticket again, though. One ticket? Confused, he looked at Trowa, "I don't understand… Where are you going to be?"

That smirk grew on Trowa's face, and he put the ticket firmly into Quatre's hand. "Get out of here. You'll find out. I want you to see it. It's for you." He whispered, leaning in to press a kiss against Quatre's cheek, and shooed him out of the dressing rooms.

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Trowa took to the rink without introduction, moving out of the entrance before the crowd's applause totally died down after July's second performance (this one to the Pink Panther song, which she did just to get a grin out of Trowa.) She gave him a thumbs up for good luck, and vacated the ice fast.

People began to wonder what he was doing on the ice, and the noise began to die down.

He was wearing his practice gear, decked out all in tight black from the skates on his feet to the clinging, reflective dance pants that hung teasingly low on his hips. The rest of him was encased in a form-fitting black body suit with a tall collar and sleeves that encased his arms up to his elbows. He looked streamlined, casual, and beautiful. But even though he looked unmistakably like himself, there was something very off about the way Trowa presented himself. Quatre, Cathy, Dimitri and Petra noticed it right away, feeling that something must have been wrong, because they had never seen Trowa do it before.

He was alone.

Trowa took the microphone from Duo with a smile, and skated out just a little onto the ice, commanding attention. The crowd quieted, sensing the change in atmosphere, and whispers began throughout the crowd. It was Trowa. Definitely Trowa. But he was alone. And he didn't look nervous.

"I want to thank everyone who worked to make this night possible for all of us performers, but especially… I want to thank the people who made this night possible for me. Heero and Relena chaired the Gala committee who let me into this event, and they allowed such an unorthodox pair to skate. My Coaches, Dimitri and Petra Anatolov have taught me everything that I know, and encouraged me to train for this night. I want to thank all the people that I've met and become close with this year, and all my years; they have all contributed to where I am right now. These last few months have been a rollercoaster, but I don't ever want to get off of it." Trowa began, his voice clear, confident, ringing through the arena. He skated out just a little more and the spotlight followed him, keeping the rest of the ice in darkness so the only focus was Trowa.

Quatre tried vainly to search the dark for another skater. July maybe? It wasn't Cathy… he could see her from where he was sitting. She had a bag of popcorn in her lap, her crutch laying limply at her side, and she was staring, slack jawed and wide-eyed at her brother on the ice. He turned all the way around in his seat, finding Dimitri and Petra's face a few rows behind him. Dimitri looked a little stunned and confused, but Petra had her eyes glued to Trowa, silently coaxing him on, as if she had been waiting for this moment for far too long.

Trowa continued, "When I began this year, I never thought I could do anything alone. I never thought I could live alone, skate alone, pass math alone!" he joked. A laugh went up in the crowd at that, and Trowa knew he had a few souls who struggled with that subject as much as he did.

"But we all have our struggles. That's what high school is about. At the beginning, I may not have thought that I could do anything alone, but then I met my friends, and they showed me my own strength. They supported me when I didn't think I could support myself. And they let me go, and I learned that I was able to stand up all on my own the whole time. I don't need to live in other people's shadows anymore. I am my own person. My own skater. My own decision maker. So, this Gala will be my official goodbye."

A gasp came from the crowd, and Quatre's head whipped around to stare at the source. Cathy looked FURIOUS! Turning red in the face and holding onto her crutch with a white-knuckled grip. If she could have flung it onto the ice, Quatre really thought that she would have.

But that couldn't be right. He knew Trowa. Trowa wasn't leaving skating. He loved it. No, this was something else…and he began to grin as the idea formed.

He knew what was coming. He knew it deep down, and the excitement began to build up inside him until he could almost feel the butterflies. He couldn't have been more proud of him!

"Tonight was my last skate as one element of a pairs team. But with every end, comes a new beginning." Trowa said, speaking over Cathy's disruption. "Tonight will be the first skate in, I hope, a very long career of solo men's skating. And this performance is dedicated to the man that made all of this possible for me. My role model. My inspiration. My friend, and my lover." Trowa whispered the last bit, flashing that sexy little flirting smirk towards Quatre's seat.

Quatre saw him alright… he just could not stop grinning and had to put his hand over his mouth demurely since he just couldn't STOP. Trowa was really going to do it… he was seriously going to compete in singles! Quatre was beaming! This was going to be wonderful! He always knew Trowa would be a wonderful singles skater.

Trowa skated backwards slowly, bringing the microphone back to Duo's waiting hands, "Quatre, baby?" He purred. The lights died down to a soft, fuzzy brightness, and faint violin music began to play. "You make me _Glorious."_

The music exploded into an orchestra of instruments as Trowa pushed off the ice, the lights exploding as he pushed his limits, starting the show by kicking off the ice high, higher than Quatre had ever seen him jump, and he spun tightly once, twice, and half way around again in a perfect double axel before he landed into a parallel spin, pushing his body sideways and spinning parallel to the ice, only one leg touching it as he built up speed in rhythm with the music. The voice was haunting, building up to the chorus, exploding into sound over and over as Trowa moved through his single performance with the energy and passion of his free style skates.

_Here she comes like a brand new day, belly dancing across the room. In the moonlight I watch her sway, to her rhythm..." _

Trowa exploded into another fantastic jump, amazing the crowd with the sheer power he put into each movement, each chord of the music, and each word he sang along, his lips moving with it as he skated seamlessly.

Little flashes of light began to pop from the stands as students pulled out their cell phones and cameras to catch sight of him. He was in complete control of the ice, flying along it as if it were part of him, as if there was nothing there but him and the ice.

But Quatre knew that wasn't true. He knew that for Trowa, there would be more now. He had friends. He had a dream. And he had Quatre.

Trowa's gaze flicked up towards Quatre's seat as he headed that way, and he waited for the music to build. He had it timed perfectly, swinging around in an arch in front of Quatre's place just as the music wound up to its highest.

_She's bringing me in. Checking me out. Making me glorious!  
She's bringing me in! Turning me on. Making me glorious! _

And Trowa tucked in, building up speed as he turned like a top on one skate, with the other pointed outward but tucked close to reduce the drag. Building up the speed in his body, he waited until he could manage it, and then he stood, still spinning, and took Quatre's favorite position: Hands above his head in a circle, like a halo, standing straight and tall.

But he wasn't done. He didn't let it go like Quatre did. No, this was the move that he had saved especially for Quatre… Learned just for Quatre. And since this performance was devoted to Quatre, he saved it until the very end.

He leaned backwards, bending far, letting his arms open and flow downwards like a flower in bloom, arching his back and counter balancing his weight as he did a layback for the first time in public.

Quatre gasped, laughing brightly as he did it. The song slowed, ending only moments later with Trowa sliding out of the layback to open his arms up to the audience, smiling winningly.

He had done it. A perfect skate for Quatre. Alone. In front of the audience… and they loved it. Applause shattered his ear drums as the students cheered, stomped, and wolf whistled. Quatre was crying in delight, grinning proudly at Trowa, and blew him a kiss, mouthing 'I love you' as he stood, clapping vigorously, excitedly, nearly jumping over the railings keeping him in his seat to get to Trowa and congratulate him.

Trowa could see Dimitri standing up, then standing on top of his seat just to be seen, clapping so hard he nearly made himself fall, and beside him Petra grinned excitedly. The only person who seemed upset was Cathy, but she couldn't be seen amongst the standing ovation from the audience around her.

Trowa pushed towards the exit as the applause kept sounding, flowers and gifts flying onto the ice for him in appreciation. As soon as he was on the cement, Quatre hopped the railing. Trowa caught him excitedly, hugging him tightly, grinning in victory, and then he slid his hands in his hair, and kissed him with a hungry, celebratory excitement that just couldn't dim, as he kissed the man that he loved the most in the world.

He would always remember that moment. That was the day that Trowa announced his solo career, and from that day forward, he made his own decisions in life. And once he started, he never wanted to stop.

Trowa still remembered the accident with sickening clarity… The crowd was clapping after his and Cathy's perfectly landed axle, and Trowa was sailing away, twisting his body in a perfect arch to see the judges clearly. The reverberating THUNK caught his attention, and the crowd gasped. Trowa twisted perfectly, moving on to their step sequence, but the backwards turn gave him a perfect view of his partner. That view he would never forget. Cathy was crumpled against the board, her leg twisted and bent like no leg should be. Her career was over. But his was just beginning.

It was the beginning of the year that he learned how to be independent, the beginning to his journey into self-discovery and the beginning of his new solo career. He learned how to be true to himself, and he learned who his real friends were. But most of all, he remembered it as the beginning of the rest of his life. And the beginning of his life with the man that he loved.

_If God is a DJ  
Life is a dance floor  
Love is the rhythm  
You are the music_

_  
If God is a DJ  
Life is a dance floor  
You get what you're given  
It's all how you use it _

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_Now get **your **ass on the dance floor, yeah! _

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